


Turning A Page

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-03-07 01:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 59,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13424268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: Feyre Archeron feels stuck in a daily grind - wake up, work to keep her family’s bookstore open, go to bed. Occasionally she finds time to spend with her sisters or her boyfriend, but those encounters are rarely ever satisfying. One day, a man named Rhysand walks into the store and changes everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how long this will be, or how regularly I will update. I just needed to write some fluff to make myself feel better.

The tinkling of the bell over the door to my bookstore fills me with two sensations: anticipation, and dread.

The first one can perhaps be easily understood. As the proprietor of a store that sells books, used and new, with a particularly large collection of art books, customers are why I’m here. This is my family business, has been for a few generations now, and so I am grateful for every single person who comes in with an interest in perusing our shelves, reading, and perhaps buying one or two items. Especially the used copies of _50 Shades of Grey_. Please, someone take them off my hands. 

The second feeling, that pit in my stomach, it’s a bit more difficult to explain.

The maypole around which my life revolves consists of two main parts: my family, and my boyfriend. If the customer who enters my shop is here to scan the shelves for books they plan on purchasing online instead of buying from me, then I am letting my family down. And if it’s my boyfriend coming in that door, then I am probably in for an explanation of how I am letting him down. At least, that’s how it’s been lately.

So there you have it. Anticipation, and dread. I think I might need to make some changes.

*****

On this particular Friday afternoon, I am waiting for my boyfriend to come pick me up and take me to dinner. Tamlin is tall and handsome, has the kind of looks that cause men and women in the street to stop and give him a second glance. Sometimes a third. If I’m with him, they try to be sly. But I have no worries on that account.

Some would say he’s high-maintenance. I prefer to call him intense. It’s not as if I could fault him for that, given the demands that my family make on me, demands which then affect how often we see one another.

We met when he came into the store looking for a birthday gift for his best friend. I helped him pick out a memoir written by a comedian, he offered to buy me dinner.

I still have a couple of hours until Tamlin is supposed to show up, so when I hear the bell ring, I know it’s not him. I like to play a game with myself, trying to figure out what kind of books people will be in the market for, but I’m not often right. I can make lots of recommendations, sure, but I’d be much better at painting their portraits. No one is knocking down my door for that particular service, though. Not when I haven’t had a chance to practice in ages.

I was crouching behind a table to pick up some books that had wandered away from their home, so I stand and brush my hands off on my pants. Unfortunately, in the way that these things happen, my store tends to get a bit dusty, and I am wearing black leggings. Rolling my eyes at myself, I try to paste on a bright smile that will distract from the mess I’ve made of my clothes.

“Hello!” Usually, this voice works on people who don’t care to see me as anything more than the help. I’ve been told I have quite good customer service. If only they knew what I was thinking beneath the smile.

A man is strolling along a table with new releases, the one near the entrance. There are people who get stopped by these books, the ones that are being hyped on social media and have been awarded prestigious literary prizes. Others go right past that table, looking for classics, and others like to lose themselves in back, where we keep more obscure volumes.

I’m not sure why. It’s how my father had it, before Mom died. And it’s a lot of work, reorganizing thousands of books. So it works.

He hasn’t answered my greeting, and I’m not sure if he heard me. His dark hair is thick and slightly damp from the drizzle outside. There is a distinct lack of color about him, with his long, black wool coat in combination with his hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is wearing a black shirt and pants as well.

I stand on the opposite side of the table. He is absently fingering the books, lifting covers but not picking any of them up.

“Can I help you find something?” This will be my last attempt to speak with him, I swear. Sometimes people prefer to browse in peace, which I can respect.

He looks up at me, and I realize I was very, very wrong to think he was lacking in color. His eyes are a striking violet, his cheeks have been flushed slightly from being out in the cold, and he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

I’m fairly certain he is amused about something, but I’m not sure what.

“Do you have a copy of _Being and Nothingness_? By Camus?” he asks me. His voice is warm and smooth and I want him to read me stories in bed as I fall asleep.

“I think you mean Sartre,” I answer. “But yeah, we do,” I quickly add. “Do you want a used copy? I might have one. But the newer ones always have the nice introductions with commentary and historical context and such.”

He nods. “I think one with context and such would be appropriate.” A hint of a smile threatens, and I look down at myself. He can’t see the mess I’ve made of my leggings, and I haven’t said anything too stupid, so I brush it off.

“Is it for yourself?” I’m not sure why I ask. What does it matter who he’s buying the book for? I turn and head towards a wall of the store, assuming he will follow. He does.

“No, it’s a gift.”

I pull the book from the shelf and hand it to him. “I would have thought it was for you.”

“And why is that?” He folds the book in his arms and leans against the shelf, head cocked.

“Well, look at you.” I gesture to his clothing. “The black. The… mood.”

“I’ve only been here two minutes and I feel like I may have just been insulted,” he says. “And by the proprietress, no less.” And yet his tone is still teasing.

“I’m sorry, I just meant you know, philosophy, you wearing all black, it’s a look people go for, you know?” I wait for an answer, but receive nothing except that amused stare. “Well, I can ring you up, unless you’d like to browse some more? We have a lot more than philosophy. Our collection of art books is quite well known.”

“Ah, yes,” he nods, “I have heard about that.”

My heart speeds up.

“Unfortunately, I have somewhere to be. But this is a lovely store. Warm. Inviting. Personable.” He grins, but this time something beneath it falters. He hands me the book. “I would like to pay for this. And I’ll come back soon, to look at what else you have to offer.”

Our hands brush as I take the book, and it has all the awkwardness of when you accidentally touch a stranger, but with the added fact that he is gorgeous. And I have a boyfriend.

I ring him up at the front. We have an old register on the counter next to the one that actually works, taking up space, because my father insists on keeping it for its charm. I can’t disagree.

The man hands me his credit card and I can’t help but take a look at his name. _Rhysand_.

“How do you say your name?” I ask. I hope I sound casual.

He pronounces it for me, and I repeat it in my head.

“I can show you the art books next time,” I say, hoping he’ll give me an indication of when that might be.

“I would enjoy that. What’s your name?”

“Feyre.” I put his book in a bag and hand it to him over the counter. “It was nice meeting you.” I’m just being friendly to a customer, I tell myself. I would say the same to anyone else.

He turns and leaves the store, the bell ringing.

The next few hours pass in a blur. I forget what projects I was in the middle of before he came, so I take a seat on the stool behind the register. This would be, of course, completely acceptable behavior from an employee, to sit there and read. But I need to make sure this place doesn’t close down, so I stand and try to get back to work.

The bell above the door rings a few more times that afternoon, and at one point I’m busy helping a few customers at the same time, so I don’t even notice it ring nearly before we close. Arms come from behind and wrap around my waist, and I nearly drop the stack of music theory books I’m carrying.

“Feyre, dearest,” a voice says near my ear, and I know it’s Tamlin. I haven’t had a chance to look at the time, but of course it’s him. He said he was coming to take me out.

“Tamlin, hey.” I squirm out from his grasp, trying not to drop my load. “I need to put these back, can you wait for me up front?”

He kisses my neck before strolling away, and I take a moment to gather myself. A few more customers are straggling behind, making their final decisions, and I gently lead them to just decide, and ring them up as quickly as possible.

Tamlin waits, leaning against a wall, picking at his nails and sighing. He’s never been much of a reader, and doesn’t understand why I’m so attached to the store.

The last customer leaves and he goes to lock the door for me, turning around the sign to say that we are closed before walking back to the counter.

“Aren’t you ever going to clean this place up?” Tamlin looks around the room with a distinct look of disgust. As if I haven’t already told him before that this is how bookstores are _supposed_ to look. The shelves are stuffed and stacked and categorized by genre and author, but not much else. The fact that it’s a mixture of used and new books has never bothered me, nor does it bother our customers. Leave it to Tamlin to be turned off by the idea of books that had actually been read before

“Good evening to you too, dear,” I say as I lean over the counter. Luckily, he leans over to meet my lips, meaning peace. It’s just a quick peck, don’t worry. I am nothing if not professional.

“Ready for dinner?” I’m using my customer voice, and it feels odd to use it on him. Perhaps it’s just being here, in customer-service mode.

He doesn’t notice. Throwing his arm over my shoulders, he leads me out of the store into the damp, lamp-lit streets.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre tells what happened when she went to dinner with Tamlin. They go to a social function and run into Rhysand, where she learns that Rhys and Tamlin already know one another.

At dinner, Tamlin asked me why I don’t just sell the bookstore. Why I allow myself to be tied down to an enterprise that is probably beneath me. It’s the sort of question someone who has never had to worry about paying bill would ask.

I reminded him that yes, I wanted to paint, I’m aware of my artistic talent and would love to spend my days doing nothing else. But I’ve made the best of both worlds, helping my family out while growing our collection of art books when I can.

It’s not what I had envisioned for myself, but it’s something. My days are filled, and I only occasionally think about what I could do, were my father’s livelihood and my sisters’ reliance on his bank account not ultimately up to me.

I find myself having to excuse comments like that - about selling the bookstore, why don’t I do something different with my hair, am I sure I should wear that out, that sort of thing - more often lately. It’s just that we come from such different worlds. I don’t always understand the rules that govern Tamlin and his circle, and they certainly don’t understand my world, in which one can be content following a passion. In his world, success only counts if it is quantifiable; houses, salaries, children, donations to whichever charity is en vogue.

Once, at an event, I joked that I own around twenty thousand books. As if that could compare to a house in Aspen and one in the Hamptons and a timeshare in Paris. No one was amused, and they had all looked to Tamlin as if I’d sprouted a new head.

When Tamlin and I met, I thought it was something out of a fairy tale. He strode into the store, all golden hair and an air of confidence that I craved for myself. He offered to do everything, be everything for me. I’d have a soft place to land, for once. It was an odd comfort, to be cared for.

Now it seems the place I used to think of as a refuge is full of hidden traps, and I’m discovering new ones every day.

But Tamlin loves me. I have never doubted that.

At dinner, Tamlin asked about my day. I usually share customer stories with him, ones that are amusing or annoying, and sometimes having to explain why the situation was funny based on the customer’s request. He isn’t what one would call well-read. But for some reason, I decided not to tell him about Rhysand. I’m keeping this one to myself. Something tells me that I was more intrigued with Rhysand than I should have been, and Tamlin will cling to any excuse to drop by the store unexpectedly.

He paid the bill, not bothering to offer or ask or make a show of it, and placed his hand on my back to lead me to his town car. I am wondering where the line is, between being taken care of, and being a prop.

I lean on the counter at the bookstore now, a spreadsheet open on the computer before me. The numbers have started to blur together, and I find myself remembering that moment when Rhysand walked in. Those eyes. Shit. That’s definitely not the type of thing I should spend my time thinking about. The usual Saturday afternoon rush is finally dying down, and I have too much free time on my hands.

Elain is next to me, going on about her newest project. It’s something about a wall garden that she can put up in the entryway to our apartment, for father’s benefit. She came by to “borrow” some books from the store, apparently forgetting the others she has failed to return, and failing to notice the fact that I am trying to balance the budget.

She finally notices that I’m not listening and pokes me in the side. “Hey, Feyre. Are you listening?” She holds up a stack of hardcover books. Brand new. Full of illustrations. I try not to think about how much they are worth, but the numbers pop into my head unbidden. “Can I take these? I won’t get dirt on them this time, promise.”

Elain smiles at me and shifts the pile in her arms. They are already taxing on her small frame.

I nod and wave my hand. “Of course. But Elain, you need to bring back the other ones. I had a customer come in and ask if we had one of them in stock last week. They ended up ordering it from Amazon instead.” I try to look grave, to impress upon her the seriousness of the missed sale.

Elain’s eyes grow wide. “Oh goodness, I’m sorry! Of course, I will bring those back right away. It’s just that Dad could really use something to cheer him up, you know? And it’s not like I can do anything outdoors with this weather.”

This time of year the rain comes often, and unpredictably, forcing everyone to find amusement indoors.

I refrain from bringing up the fact that Elain could complete this wall garden from sheer force of creativity. Where I can see a blank canvas and fill it with whatever my mind sees, Elain can take an empty patch of land and make it come to life. 

“I’ll text you and remind you next week. Before you come in for your shift.”

Elain nods eagerly, puts on her long wool coat, and gathers the books again. She shifts the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder to keep it from slipping.

Along with Nesta, Elain helps out at the store from time to time. In other words, when they find time in their schedules, they come in and check out the new inventory. I still don’t think Elain knows how to run the register. I think I’d rather she not help too many customers, anyway. She would probably start giving things away for free.

Elain strolls out of the store, already humming to herself. An unseen hand holds the door open for her and she chirps happily to its owner, but I don’t think anything of it. She could make conversation with a sparrow and consider it her friend.

Tamlin strolls in, come to take me home to get ready for the party. A customer who is too enthralled in the book jacket they are reading is in his path to me, and he waits, refusing to give ground. The customer looks up, having remembered that the real world exists, and scurries away, mumbling apologies.

His way no longer encumbered, Tamlin approaches the register. He has a garment bag over his shoulder, and I can guess what’s in it. He lays it gently over the counter. “I have a present for you.”

I shut the ledger containing the week’s work schedule. “A present? What for?”

“It’s for tonight,” he answers. It’s as I suspected. He picked out something for me to wear. Either that or he had Lucien or Alis help him. Either way, there will be no decision-making for me tonight. Whatever is in that garment bag is surely more expensive than I would have been able to afford on my own, and so I should be grateful. Yet for some reason, a tight ball inside my stomach rebels, kicking in frustration.

“What is this event, again?” I lean over the counter and he offers his cheek for me to kiss.

“It’s the opening of the new headquarters for the Vanserras’ bank. I know it sounds dull, but they spent a lot to decorate the place so you might find some interesting pieces. And of course there will be free champagne. Lucien will be there. You like Lucien, right?”

I suppress a sigh and grab the bag to hang it on the door to the back office. “Of course. He and I will likely find a corner to spy on people and laugh at them as they try to find someone in the room to hook up with. Someone they haven’t already slept with, that is.” I smile brightly.

“Feyre.” Tamlin pinches the bridge of his nose. I know he’s only pretending to be annoyed. We have an unspoken agreement that I go along with him to these things, allow myself to be paraded around and introduced, looking stunning in whatever he has picked for me, and then afterwards we have great sex. It works out well for both of us. Or at least, I find the wait to leave those places bearable.

“Come on,” he says. He looks around the store. There are no customers. “Close up a few minutes early so you can get ready.”

I check the time. We have an hour until closing, so I refuse. “Business has been slow. I need to stick around and see if any other customers might stop by. I’ll meet you at my place in a bit, ok?”

Tamlin doesn’t look like he wants to, but he agrees anyway. When he is gone, I turn to the garment bag and slide the zipper open a few inches. I catch a glimpse of pale pink gauze, and close it. I don’t need to see the rest of it to know that it would be more fitting Elain, but have also confirmed that it must have cost a small fortune.

Frustration fills me at the idea that Tamlin can throw money at a dress that doesn’t even reflect my personality, that I will wear one time, and yet no one is here in the store to buy a book that cost a fraction of that.

I pull the zipper down again, taking in the cut of the dress. I can appreciate its construction, the hand-beaded detailing, the finishes that justify the expense. If only I had been able to pick something out myself. 

I remind myself that at the end of the evening, I will have done one more thing to make Tamlin happy, and wait until it’s time to close the store.

*****

Tamlin is at my apartment speaking with my father when I walk inside. He is already dressed and ready to go - of course, it’s much easier for him, when all he does is wear suits anyway - and so I duck into my room, waving at the two of them and pretending to be in more of a rush than I am.

I finally pull the dress out and slip into it. There are no sleeves, and I wonder what Tamlin thinks I’m supposed to do in this weather. The bodice fits comfortably and the skirts swish with a whisper around my legs. Shaking out the fabric, I allow the dress to fall into place. It comes mid-knee, and I turn to my closet to find shoes that will match. Luckily, Tamlin has been generous in this area, so that isn’t difficult. I choose a pair of stilettos and walk out to the living room.

Tamlin looks up at me and smiles, as if somehow this dress and I were made for each other. I feel supremely uncomfortable.

“Feyre, you look lovely,” my dad exclaims. He tries to stand but struggles, so I lean down to give him a hug.

“Thanks, Dad.” I reach over to Tamlin, shoes still in my other hand. “Shall we go? Get this over with?”

“Feyre,” Tamlin says, a hint of warning in his voice. He looks over to my father apologetically. It rankles something in me, as if they are conspiring to keep me in check. My father just shrugs. “Alright, the car is downstairs. Do you have your coat?”

“I’ll grab it on the way out. Bye, Dad. Don’t wait up.”

Tamlin and I make our way downtown to the financial district. It’s become more familiar to me than I ever thought it would be. But given Tamlin’s contacts and his own family business, that’s not surprising. I try to find something redeeming in the cold steel and hard edges one finds here. I fail, again.

I give my coat to a woman who gives me a ticket in return. Unable to find pockets in my dress, I hand it to Tamlin. He takes my arm in his own and leads me to the reception.

Everything here is so tasteful that it has lost all sense of identity. The attempt at banishing the coldness of the exterior of the building rings false, and I can’t quite understand why.

Medieval choral music is playing softly, and I have to keep myself from snorting. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful. It’s just ironic, to take the music sung in churches and place it here, where the main object of worship is money. I decide to keep that observation to myself. At least, until I find Lucien. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the dig at his family’s expense.

We make the rounds, hands clapping roughly on masculine backs and women’s hands being taken delicately and coddled. I recognize few of the matriarchs of this milieu. Lucien’s mother is there, and a woman with deep auburn hair and lipstick so thick and dark she may have used lacquer. Besides those two, neither of whom I want to speak with, I am an island.

I pull myself away from Tamlin, giving the excuse that I need to find the restroom. I run into Lucien almost immediately. He has an especially sarcastic glower to him this evening, given it is supposed to celebrate his family’s success.

“Feyre, look at you,” he says, walking around me to take in the dress. “It seems as if Tamlin has impeccable taste, as always.”

I snort. “Lucien Vanserra, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you are hitting on me.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Surely not.” He offers me his arm. “Would you like to find somewhere so we can commence with our usual shenanigans?” He grins and me, and the tight knot in my core begins to relax.

“With pleasure.” I take his arm and we grab glasses of champagne from a passing waiter as we search for a spot to observe the goings-on.

“Don’t worry,” he says, anticipating me. “I’ve been in here since the beginning, and I have the perfect spot for us.”

He takes me around a fireplace that I hadn’t realized was two-sided. Tucked away against this far wall, we relax comfortably into a couple of deep, soft chairs. The fireplace is covered in glass on either side, so we can watch everyone in the room without being interrupted.

After a few minutes of making jokes at everyone else’s expense, I decide to ask Lucien a question.

“Lucien, do you think the bookstore is worth saving?”

He looks at me, his eyebrows furrowed, and leans back in his chair before he responds. “Why are you asking me?”

“I don’t know. I guess because of this.” I gesture to the large reception room we are in. I can often ignore the impending sense of failure I get when I am alone in the store, surround by the smell of paper and binding and glue. And then I come to places like this, where all of my successes mean next to nothing to these people, and all of my convictions begin to fall apart at the seams.

Lucien leans forward and places his hand on my knee. “Feyre, if you ever doubt your purpose in life again, please call me? You know you love that place. You know that all of the glitter-covered bullshit here isn’t worth a tenth of what you are.” He pulls my hand to his lips and gives it a kiss. “I’m serious. These bastards have no idea what you’re worth.”

A warm feeling spreads in my stomach. “Thank you, Lucien.” No more is necessary. In this world of accounts and numbers and oneupmanship, Lucien is someone who understands it all, helps me to find my moorings, and yet understands. There is more to his past with his family than he has ever told me, but I suspect that he has never been what one would call a dutiful son.

Through the glass of the fireplace, I can see Tamlin glancing around the room. He has noticed my absence. I stand and offer my hand to Lucien. “Shall we join the rabble?”

We find Tamlin, our arms linked and heads bowed as we share a private joke. Tamlin doesn’t look pleased, so Lucien hands my arm off to him. “I think you were missing this.”

A game. It’s always a game to these people. But as I look at Lucien and see the gleam in his eye, the way he keeps himself from joking about the formality of handing me from one male companion to another, I know I’m not alone.

We chat quietly, pleasantly, with whichever people decide it’s in their best interest to speak with Tamlin. It’s an exhausting parade, and I nearly tune out of the conversation until a pair of familiar violet eyes meets mine.

Rhysand.

He approaches us, Tamlin, Lucien, myself, with a swagger that implies he has all the time in the world. As if to say that he has just happened upon us.

I look to Tamlin, to see if they know each other, and see the tightness in his expression. He knows Rhysand, then.

Rhysand sets his empty champagne glass on a tray that appears from nowhere. He doesn’t bother looking to see if the waiter is there to catch it. So, he’s one of _those_.

He extends his hand and Tamlin shakes it. Hard to do otherwise, with everyone watching. “Tamlin. Lucien.” He bows his head slightly. Rhysand is dressed all in black again. He hasn’t even bothered to look my way. It stings more than I’d like to admit, and I pull Tamlin’s arm in closer, tucking myself into his side.

“Rhysand. And what are you doing here this evening? Isn’t this something of a conflict of interests, to be at a party for your rivals?”

Rhysand chuckles, though warmth is missing from it. This is not the man who came into my store the day before, smiling with an earnestness to find a gift for a friend.

“You should know better than anyone, Tamlin. It’s necessary to be diplomatic, even in a pit filled with vipers.” He smiles and grabs another glass of champagne from a passing tray without looking to it.

I tighten my grip on Tamlin’s arm, reminding him of my presence.

“Rhysand, this is my girlfriend. Feyre Archeron. Feyre, Rhysand.”

Rhysand bows, taking my hand. “Call me Rhys.” He glances over at Tamlin, and I wonder what the joke is. “Have we met before?”

My toes curl in my shoes. How could he have forgotten me? And why do I care?

“I own the bookstore on 5th. You were there yesterday.”

“Ah, yes,” Rhysand says in a casual drawl, “You’re the cashier. Of that small shop that sold me the gift.” He brings my hand to his lips and I want to pull away. That’s nothing new, to withstand the attentions of men who think I should be grateful. But here, I feel a particular satisfaction in the idea that he might notice.

“I own the store,” I correct. “Or my family does. I’m not the cashier. But I hope that your friend enjoys the book. Or that it might provide them some sort of insight for yourself.” I smile sweetly.

“Of course.” He turns to Tamlin, dismissing me. “Tamlin, my good man, we must talk later. About our impending merger.” He swallows the last of his glass, another tray appears as if providence wished it, and wanders away without another word.

Tamlin grips my hand and pulls me towards the coat check. I try to turn to Lucien, to say goodbye, but he has already walked away.

We get into the car and Tamlin tells the driver to take me home.

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” he asks.

“It wasn’t a story. You know I like to tell you about the amusing customers, Tamlin. And I had no idea you knew each other. I just…” My voice fades and I feel useless. There is an inertia to my life that I can’t control, and I watch as Tamlin puts a damper his anger. Again, I feel the tension in my core.

When we reach the entrance to my building, I hesitate. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tamlin.” We have plans to go to breakfast. I would have thought we’d leave together, from his apartment, but that has changed.

“Good night, Feyre.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamlin and Feyre go to breakfast, where they continue their discussion about Rhysand. In the bookstore, Feyre gets an unpleasant surprise.

When I wake the next morning, it’s to my phone buzzing. I roll over and blink at the screen. Tamlin has a car waiting for me downstairs, to take me to brunch.

I’m not sure what kind of mood he will be in, but I’m willing to bet I’ll have to do at least a bit more explaining about why didn’t tell him about meeting Rhysand.

Sitting up in bed, I throw my sheets to the side. I’m sure he is planning for us to go to the sort of place where they serve champagne and, while many of the patrons will be nursing a hangover, few will allow their appearances to hint at it. Which means I need to get out of bed and get ready. I send a text back to him, asking him to tell the driver that I will be down soon.

I glance over at the pile of pink silk I wore the night before, frowning. That is, until I come up with an idea. Jumping out of bed, I hang the dress up in my closet next to all of the others that Tamlin has given me. They each represent a different moment in our relationship. The pale green satin that he sent me for our one-month anniversary dinner. The sundress that he asked me to wear when we went to an art show at the botanical gardens. The deep aubergine evening gown that I wore to the opera. The places I wore them to seem innocuous enough, but the accompanying memories cause knots of increasing size to form in my stomach.

I make a quick mental inventory of the dresses, and then jump in the shower.

By the time I reach the restaurant, Tamlin has already ordered. A chilled bottle of champagne sits in a silver bucket, and as he sees me approach he fills my glass. An egg white omelette is in front of an empty seat at the table. I’d prefer something sweet, but I don’t much have a say in it now.

There is a third empty place setting at the table, but I ignore it.

I lean over and give Tamlin a small kiss on the cheek, resting my hand on his shoulder, which he pats affectionately.

“Feyre. I hope you slept well.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Without you, but yes.” I try to sound teasing. I don’t think he buys it.

Tamlin sips from his champagne flute and I take my seat. I place my napkin in my lap and take a small sip of champagne. All around me are the scents of sausages and pastries and eggs Benedict, all the sorts of things I would have ordered myself, had I the choice.

“There is a third seat here.” I begin to eat my breakfast, ravenous after an evening of filling up on drink.

“Lucien is meeting us in a while.”

“Oh?” I brighten immediately. These places are always more fun with Lucien in tow, ready to make sarcastic comments and appreciate my own.

“I have some work I want him to do.”

“Really, Tamlin, on the weekend?” I spear a tomato slice with my fork. “You’d think he was an indentured servant, the way you treat him.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Feyre. He doesn’t complain.”

I don’t add, “because he can’t”. When I met Tamlin, he and Lucien were already thick as thieves, though sometimes I wonder how much Lucien depends on Tamlin for employment. They might be friends, but Tamlin takes advantage of that, as well as the fact that Lucien is on his payroll. Not that I’d ever say that.

“So, last night,” I begin. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about meeting Rhysand, but I didn’t know it would matter. I never expected to see him again. And you were so busy.”

“I didn’t mean to seem angry with you, Feyre. It was a surprise, is all. You can’t know what it did to me, seeing that you might have known him.” He clears his throat and grips the edge of the table. I see a woman glancing over at him and he releases it.

“I’m sorry.” I reach across the table and clasp his hand in my own. “If it makes you feel any better, I doubt he’ll come back. I don’t know if you noticed, but he was a complete ass last night.”

Tamlin chuckles, and his shoulders lose their tension. “That is an accurate description of Rhysand.” He purses his lips. “I still would like to know if you encounter him again, though. Just let me know.”

“Of course. How long have you known one another?” Clearly, there is a story there, one Tamlin has never told me. I work on my breakfast, feigning disinterest.

“Since we were children. Our parents knew one another.”

“In this incestuous city, it would be surprising if you didn’t.” I chew on some egg and spinach, trying to make the conversation lighter.

“Feyre, I hardly think that’s an appropriate way to talk about it. But in a sense, you are right. Our families go back. Rhysand’s sister was quite lovely.”

“His sister?” I have apparently touched on a sore spot, and Tamlin doesn’t seem to want to speak anymore. I know little about Tamlin’s history, his past relationships, but it seems that he might have cared about this woman. I noticed the use of past tense as well, but decide not to mention it, although it would certainly go a long way in explaining Rhysand’s dour mood.

Tamlin settled his fork on his plate. “I don’t want to discuss Rhysand any further.”

And like that, the discussion is over. Silence reigns over the table for the next few minutes as I try to decide what to discuss.

In the interim, Lucien joins us. I jump up to hug him, grateful for the distraction, and he glances between Tamlin and me, clearly discerning the mood he has walked in on.

I pat Lucien’s seat, call the waiter for another glass - an oversight on Tamlin’s part, I’m sure - and hand the bottle of champagne across the table to him.

Lucien seems a bit tired this morning, but that’s to be expected, if he was at the bank opening late, or ventured out into the city afterward. We make some small talk, Lucien orders his meal, and we fall into an uncomfortable silence once more.

It might not be the best moment, but I decide to share my brilliant idea.

I slather strawberry jam on my toast as I talk. “Tamlin, I had a thought this morning, about all the dresses you’ve bought me.”

Tamlin finishes his glass and sets it down. “What’s that, my love?”

“I was thinking that I could donate them to charity. Only not a charity, exactly. It could be an auction.”

“An auction? For what?”

“I’m not sure what cause I would like it to benefit. But I don’t have an idea of which would be the best, or the most appropriate. I thought maybe you or Lucien could help me pick one.”

“Keep them,” Tamlin says shortly. “I bought them for you.” His tone indicates the end of the discussion, but I’m not done.

“I don’t have use for them. You know you don’t want me to wear them more than once, not if we’re going to be around people you know. People would notice me wearing the same couture to more than one event, and if I’ve learned anything being in your set, it’s that that is a definite fashion faux pas.” I laugh and look to Lucien to see if he will help me in lightening the mood. Nothing. “I’d like some good to come from them, that’s all,” I finish.

Tamlin’s expression has become tense, and I know that I’m pushing him more than usual, but I persist.

“The amount you have spent on those dresses is more than my shop makes in a month. I just hate to see them sitting in my closet, useless.

I look over to Lucien again but he avoids meeting my eyes. I know he agrees. He just won’t say anything about it.

“Useless?”

“You know what I mean, Tamlin. I appreciate them, I really do. It’s just that I have no need.”

“I’ll think about it. In the meantime, Lucien and I have business to discuss, so I’ll have the driver take you back to your apartment.”

I look down at my half-full plate and mentally go over the inventory of food I have at home. I’ll have to stop at the store, to make myself an actual meal that consists of more than appearing at the right place in front of the right society people.

I stand and Lucien and Tamlin follow suit, Tamlin coming around to pull my chair out for me. He pecks me on the cheek, reminding me to be ready to meet him for dinner next Friday. He’s promised to take me to a show, but I’m not sure which one.

“Feyre?” He holds my arm back as I leave.

“Yes?” I turn back to him, placing my hands on his chest. Beneath that warmth is someone I fell in love with. It’s just difficult to see it sometimes.

He takes my hand and brings it to his lips. There is something open and raw in his expression, and it disarms me. It’s a look I rarely see anymore, and one guaranteed to make me do whatever he wants. “I’ll send something for you to wear for Friday. And I have something special I want to ask you.”

*****

It’s Monday afternoon, and the rain hasn’t stopped since I woke up. It would be the perfect weather to lull me to sleep at the front register, but I have far too much work to do, considering Nesta decided that she was too busy with her other work to come in. I didn’t ask what she meant by “other work”, and she didn’t offer any details.

The bell over the door rings and I jump up from a squat so quickly that I narrowly miss knocking over a stack of recent acquisitions that I am shelving.

A woman strides in. Tall, beautiful, with thick auburn hair. She looks like the sort of person I would see at one of Tamlin’s events, but she’s not familiar. She wears a long, heavy wool coat that looks as if it were made for her. The only jewelry she wears are large diamond studs in her ears that I can see from across the store.

In other words, I’m fairly certain she’s rich as hell, and she’s in my shop.

I step forward, greeting her while I straighten my button-down shirt.

The woman traces her finger over the cover of a new release before turning to me. Her eyes glint with something, and while I’m not sure what it is, she could definitely be someone I would run into at one of Tamlin’s events. Only there have I seen people who would smile and preen as they swallowed you whole.

I think about the crack I made to Tamlin earlier, about his social circle being so incestuous, and wonder if she’s from out of town. Or even come from abroad.

“Can I help you find something?”

“What’s your name?”

I find the question abrupt and unnecessary, but I answer her. “Feyre. Feyre Archeron. My family owns this store. Is that anything in particular I can help you locate?”

She shakes her head. “Archeron. I came here to find you, in fact.”

Something settles in my stomach.

“My name is Amarantha,” she continues, “And I have a particular interest in this store.” She hands me a business cards that reads “Amaranthine Industries”. After looking at it’s lettering and gilt edges, I tuck it into my back pocket.

“You named your business after yourself?”

She shrugs. “Why not?”

It’s the answer someone like her would give. It’s the type of thing Tamlin might say, but I feel as if that’s an ungenerous thought, and I brush it away.

“How can I help you?” I try to get to the bottom of what this woman wants, coming in here smelling of old money and so much class that she needs to do little to prove it. I say silent thanks for the practice I’ve had at art gallery openings and society soirees that have given me the grace to handle someone like this.

Amarantha extends her hand, and I go to shake it but end up feeling more like she expected me to kiss it. Like some kind of queen.

“I’m not looking for any books. I have other business.”

With that out of the way, I decide to get straight to the heart of the matter. “I’m confused,” I say, “About why you are here, in my store.”

Amarantha smiles at me and I suppress the shiver that wants to run down my spine. “I own this building. Surely you knew that?”

I blink. I pay the rent on the space for the bookstore every month, but I have been doing that since I was practically a child. A teenager trying to take over a business while her father preoccupies himself with grief is hardly concerned with whichever multinational conglomerate owns a building, so long as they let her keep her father’s store open and running in it. As long as she makes sure the bills get paid.

And I have. So I’m puzzled as to why the owner of this building has come to see me.

“I wasn’t aware. I’ve taken over for my father. I didn’t intend to be in the book-selling business. But I’ve grown to love it, of course.” Something in me feels the need to please her, to get her to leave.

“I understand.” The way she says it tells me that her understanding counts for little. “However, this neighborhood is becoming less and less desirable, in recent years. Because of that, I have decided to let this building go.”

I take a moment to process what she means. Let the building go. To someone else? Someone else will own it? Will my rent change? I’m left reeling before she even lands the final blow.

“I’m planning on selling this building, and the new owners I have in mind do not plan on keeping this structure, or the businesses housed in it. They’d prefer to build an apartment building, spruce the area up a bit. I felt it was my duty to do everyone the courtesy of letting them know.”

I don’t respond, taking a moment to try to process the consequences.

“This area has become something of an eyesore, you see,” she continues.

I feel as if I’ve been slapped. I watch her look around the store, not bothering to mask her distaste anymore.

“When is this going to happen? How long do I have?” It’s the only thing I can think to ask. There is little control I have over this situation. I recognize it immediately, knowing what type of person she is. What type of people I’ve allowed myself to become entrenched with.

“Oh, it will be a couple of months before the deal is settled. These things take time. Though, I don’t suppose you would have any experience with that, so I understand your asking.” She waves her gloves in the air dismissively.

“Why did you come today?” I cross my arms, prepared to ask her to leave.

“What do you mean?” She seems genuinely puzzled, so I have to give it to her acting skills.

“Don’t you have lawyers who deal with this sort of thing? A team of assistants or something?” I feel little fear now. All she needed do was threaten my store, the source of income keeping Elain and my father free to pursue their own interests.

“Yes, of course. Well, you can say that I took a special interest, in your case.” She pauses for effect. “I hear that you attended the opening last week, with Lucien Vanserra. And Tamlin. But why wouldn’t you? Given how close all of you have grown.”

I’m barely holding in my rage and on the point of kicking her out when she adjusts the collar of her coat and turns.

“I’ll be in touch,” she calls out as she leaves.

The bell over the door rings, and I punch my fist into the table in front of me. I’m on the verge of finding my phone to text Tamlin when the bell rings again. I put on my best customer face, but let it drop when I see who it is.

Rhysand. He walks straight towards me, not even bothering to pretend he is here shopping for books.

And you know, I’m not in the mood for any of it.

“What do you want?” I bark out. There’s no need for formalities with him, apparently.

He narrows his eyes, his perfect, beautiful violet eyes, and nearly looks hurt. “You mentioned something about art books.”

I sigh. I’m not sure what his game is, but as long as we are here in the store, I have to play the helpful patroness.

“What kind do you want?” I turn and walk to a set of shelves near the register, expecting him to follow. He does, but doesn’t bother looking at the books.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. As if he has a right to.

“I’ve just had some bad news. What were you looking for?”

Rhysand places his palms on the table behind himself and leans back on it. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

I can’t tell him what’s really wrong. Not him. Not now. I choose another tactic.

“Why did you pretend you didn’t know me the other night?” There’s no way to ask the question without sounding desperate, but I need to know. Maybe it’s foolish of me, and wrong to even entertain the idea, but when he looked at me, I had the distinct impression of being _seen_. Not just noticed. I wasn’t Tamlin’s date, I wasn’t the sister who does the work, I wasn’t the faceless help in a bookstore.

When I met Rhysand, I felt him look at me. Wonder who I was.

But perhaps that was just a flight of fancy.

“I apologize about that. I didn’t know you knew Tamlin. It threw me off guard.” He takes a book from the table he is leaning against and begins to thumb through it.

“How long have you known one another?” I am curious for more than his sake; I have had a difficult time getting Tamlin to tell me much about his past, despite the fact that we have been together for nearly a year.

“Long enough,” he says. He places the book back on the table. “Now, do you want to tell me what’s got you all… red?”

I reach up to my face and am ashamed to find that it is warm. But if honesty is what will take for him to leave and allow me the space to contact Tamlin, so be it.

“I found out that this building is being sold, so I’ll be kicked out. My family business will have nowhere to go.”

“That’s too bad.” Rhysand shrugs.

“Too bad? That my family’s livelihood is on the line? That this store will disappear? That everything I’ve worked to keep running since I was a teenager will be gone? All that work, for nothing?” My voice is more shrill than I intended, but I can’t find it in myself to care.

“I mean it’s too bad that this store will be gone. I think it’s a credit to the neighborhood. And you.” He reaches up to brush my cheek. I can only assume I’ve gotten dirt on it. “I hate to think you’ll not be around to give me a hard time when I look for art books.”

I step away from him. We hardly know one another. I don’t know why I would expect sympathy from someone like him. Someone who Tamlin hates, who would probably take Amarantha’s side. Her business card is still in my back pocket, and I want to tear it up and throw it in his face.

“I don’t think you have what I need, after all,” he says. Rhysand turns towards the exit and raises his hand in parting.

Frantically, I go to my phone, messaging Tamlin, Lucien, Nesta, anyone who might have a way to help me out of this mess.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamlin and Rhysand both ask Feyre important questions.

My favorite time of day is when the sun is beginning to set. The transition to nighttime creates a sort of calm that I never find elsewhere. During the day, the sun causes everything to come into sharp relief. At home, at night, I feel like myself. And my favorite place to be at this time is in the bookstore.

The chandelier that serves as the main lighting in the store gives everything a warm cast. Shadows are created in the spaces between shelves and books, and the space closes in comfortably. The chandelier is an antique, the center globe acting as a sun around which the smaller lights twinkle like accompanying stars. If I were to sell the store, I would take it with me, one way or another. 

It’s my own private universe, and sometimes I wish that I could transfer the feeling to my room at my dad’s apartment. 

As much as this was never a part of my plans, the bookstore is the one place I have to myself, where I am in complete control. The idea of losing it causes a gaping hole to appear before me, in my future. 

I look to the corner in which an old, ratty orange lounge chair is resting. If I were to sit in it, I would still be able to smell my mother. I wonder if that is one of the reasons that Dad refuses to come here, but I have a feeling that might be a generous assumption.

It is Friday evening. I’m watching the light change, the chandelier gaining strength as the sun goes down, when the bell over the door rings. It’s one of Tamlin’s assistants, Alis, bringing me my dress for dinner. I smile and make small talk, wondering how much this one cost. 

When I open the garment bag, I see a pale green swath of fabric. At least this one has a capelet. I wonder if Tamlin realized that I am indeed a human, that no matter how much he dresses me up, looking nice is not a substitute for being sensible in this cold weather. 

I shut the store up by myself, turning back to look at the chandelier light before I flip the switch, wishing that I could capture its light somehow in paint, but knowing that I have neither the time nor ability to make it so. Perhaps if I had more time to practice. But the very existence of the chandelier, the precarious state of the store it resides in, makes it impossible. 

On my walk home, I sling the garment bag over my arm. I don’t listen to music. The patter of rain on the roads and the gentle swish that cars make when they drive through puddles prolong my sense of ease. 

If only there were a way for me to capture this mood on canvas. 

I zip myself into the dress while I listen to Dad talking in the next room about his latest project. It’s something that will surely lose money. Some trip overseas. I don’t listen too much to the details. I’m more concerned about Amarantha’s trip to the bookstore, what Tamlin is going to ask me at dinner.

When I called a family meeting to tell everyone about Amarantha’s news, Dad’s ignorance as to its import, Elain’s insistence that everything would turn out in the end, and Nesta’s suggestion that we give it up were all what I expected. I guess I told them more as a formality than anything else. 

I knew that they wouldn’t have any suggestions about how to deal with her. But part of me had still hoped. 

I haven’t told Tamlin yet. I’m trying to figure it out without him throwing his influence around. I’ve kept the store open this long, so I can keep it running. At least, that’s what I tell myself. 

Tamlin has a car waiting for me outside the building, but when I slide onto the leather upholstery, I’m surprised to see that he is seated inside.

“Tamlin, you aren’t meeting me there?”

He grabs my hand and brings it to his lips. I suppose it would be terribly romantic, if everything in my life weren’t teetering on a cliff’s edge.

“I wanted to come with you. Walk into the restaurant with you on my arm.”

I smile, though I’m less comfortable with making a spectacle of myself than he is. I suppose it’s just another part of growing up the way he did. 

“Do you mind?” He looks at me as if my response will determine his mood for the rest of the year.

I lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek. “It seems pretty formal, is all. Of course I don’t mind.” I sigh and smooth the fabric of my dress over my legs. It’s excessive, it’s gorgeous, and it’s just not me. 

A sense of impending change is hanging over me, and it’s not just about the bookstore.

Once we are seated at our table, Tamlin orders a bottle of champagne, gives me suggestions about which dishes I should order - merely because he knows the chef, not because he doesn’t trust my abilities to choose my own food - and then he clears his throat nervously.

“Feyre, you seem off tonight.” 

I look up from my champagne flute. I drank it far too quickly. My head swims slightly. I should have waited for the escargot to come out, gotten some food in my stomach, before downing that first glass.

I set my glass down close enough to Tamlin that he reaches over to refill it for me without my asking. “I’m sorry, I’m just worried about the store.” I bite my tongue. I will not tell him. I will deal with this on my own.

Tamlin’s foot taps nervously on the ground, and at one point his knee hits the underside of the table as he shifts.

“I’d say I’m not the only one who is off tonight.” Tamlin is normally composed, and I’m not sure how to deal with a version of him that is less than steady. Not that I don’t cause him to lose his cool sometimes. But I know that tonight, at least, that’s not the case. 

The waiter comes with the dish of escargot swimming in butter. We preoccupy ourselves with spreading the garlicky mixture on slices of crusty bread. Pretending that neither of us are on edge. We’re rather good at pretending, at this point. 

By the time we reach dessert, we have discussed the weather, the branch opening we attended, the Vanserra’s newest business conquest, the news, and Tamlin has yet to ask me any questions. Or at least, any questions whose existence would need to be announced a full week before this dinner.

When the waiter comes to ask us if we would like any after-dinner drinks and Tamlin glares at him, I know it’s the moment. 

He reaches across the table, clasping my hand in his. He looks into my eyes. I can’t say I’m entirely surprised when he finally asks me.

“Feyre, I told you before that I had something to ask you. I know that you have been through so much lately, and I want to be there for you. I want to make sure that you are taken care of.” He releases my hand and pulls a pale blue box from his jacket pocket. “Will you marry me?” 

I’m drowning, and I don’t know if he has offered me a life raft or another trap. 

“Feyre, what do you say? Will you be my wife?”

My mind spins. It’s everything I wanted from him. It’s permanent, it’s a new family, it’s stability. 

And I love him.

“Yes.”

*****

Tamlin and I made plans for me to move into his apartment in the next week or so. I don’t own much, and he has people who can help. He always has people. 

But now, I’m at the store. It’s Monday afternoon. My favorite time of day. The light outside is beginning to fade, and I’m ready to wind down with it. I rest with my elbows on the counter, and I’m so caught up in my thoughts about light and color and contrast and composition, that I don’t hear the bell over the door ring.

But it must have, because Rhysand is standing in front of me. 

“Hello, Feyre.” He walks to the counter, hands in his pockets. 

“Hi, Rhysand. Can I help you find something?”

He smiles. “Straight to business, then.”

“I thought you said I don’t have anything you need. Or the store, I mean. That the store doesn’t have anything you need.”

He walks up to the counter and rests his fists on the glass enclosure, looking into it. Beneath the glass are a few personal letters from authors that my father managed to collect when he still had the energy to do such things.

“I may have been mistaken. I thought I would come and see this collection of art books you mentioned.”

“I can do that. What kind of art do you prefer?” I begin to walk out from behind the counter, but he doesn’t follow.

“What’s this?” He’s holding Amarantha’s card in between his fingers like it’s diseased. I had left it here in the store, not wanting it to pollute my home life. I must have left it on the counter. It is worn now. I have spent too many hours feeling its surface, as if that would give me the answers on how to deal with its origin. 

“You know her?”

“Unfortunately. Why do you have her card?” Rhysand looks around the store. “Was she here? Don’t tell me she asked for a self-help book. How to Not Be a Bitch? Of course you’d have to find her the version for beginners. She has a lot of work to do.”

He’s trying to joke, but I hear the edge in his voice. I’m surprised that I can already recognize it. 

“She wants to sell this building. The entire thing. And the new owner wants to get rid of all the businesses inside of it, replace them with something newer and shinier.”

Rhysand’s eyes narrow. “Why did she bother coming to tell you?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. She said something but I forgot. I was too concerned with how I was going to keep the store at the time.”

“She’s probably just trying to fuck with Tamlin,” Rhysand said to himself as much as to me.

“Why would she do that? Do they know each other?” I straighten and try to catch Rhysand’s gaze. I have a feeling he’ll have a harder time lying if he has to stare into my face to do it.

“You could say that. You should really ask your boyfriend about it, though.”

I hold up my left hand. The diamond ring glimmers nicely in this fading light, I have to admit. “Fiancé. Not boyfriend.”

I could swear that Rhysand’s face falls before he responds. “Congratulations.”

“You could sound more enthusiastic, you know.”

It’s Rhysand’s turn to shrug. “Do you know how many weddings I attend every year? It’s hardly news.”

My hand falls to my side. “Way to make me feel special. Thanks.”

Rhysand adjusts his coat and comes closer. “I’m sorry, Feyre. It’s great news for you, it really is. I hope he strives to make you happy. He doesn’t deserve you.” He shakes his head as if to stop himself from saying more.

He walks away from me, strolling around a table that displays classics. He taps his fingers on their spines, and I wonder what he is thinking. It’s apparently not about books, because he doesn’t pick up a single one. 

I’m preparing to turn back to my counter when a thought occurs to me. “Didn’t you say you wanted to see the art books?” 

Rhysand looks back up at me. “Right. Of course.”

I walk over to them, gesturing for him to follow me. 

“This,” I say, “is where they start. I have them organized by movement and style, rather than time period. There is overlap, of course. When people come in, they expect to find them shelved by artist. But artists don’t exist alone, do they?” I look up at Rhys. He’s watching me, rather than looking at the books. I feel a blush creeping up, and I turn away from him. 

“So I decided that I would show the interaction of artists with one another, with their environment, rather than treating them as if they were alone.”

“And are you?” The words come from too near, and I nearly close my eyes to focus on the sonorous qualities of his voice.

“Am I what?” I pull out a book on Remedios Varo. I turn around and look at him.

“Are you alone?”

“What makes you think I’m an artist?”

“Why else would you care so much about this collection?”

“Can’t someone be interested in art without being an artist?” I shake my head. Somehow we are communicating in questions, and it reminds me of a game I used to play with Nesta and Elain as children. “I haven’t had time to paint in ages. But yes, I was interested. At one point.”

“When did it end?” No pretense, no attempt to ease into the topic. Rhysand has no lack of chutzpah, apparently.

“Who says it did?”

“The lady did protest too much.” He takes the book from my hands. I forgot to hand it to him. “Remedios Varo.” His pronunciation of her name is perfect. “Surrealist?” He flips through the pages, running his fingers over the paintings as if he can glean more information from them that way.

“Yes. Often forgotten. Or she was for a long time. But important, all the same. As are many other female artists. I make it a point to include them here.” I point to the shelf. “Alongside Dali I have Varo, and alongside Ingres I have Vigée Le Brun.” I throw names at him, wondering if he will catch them. 

Rhysand nods. “I prefer more contemporary work. Sherman, in particular.”

I take the book from him and flip through its pages. “She’s a photographer.” I put the book back in its place on the shelf. “Have I passed your test?”

“Have I passed yours?” 

I look back up at Rhysand. “I suppose so.” A silence envelopes us and I can’t help but notice the way his face looks in the fading light, the way the increasing brightness of the chandelier creates a warmth in him I hadn’t seen before.

Rhysand reaches up to me, and I think for a moment that he might caress my face. I find myself nearly leaning into it. 

His hand reaches past me and finds a collection of Cindy Sherman’s photography. “I think I’d like to buy this.”

I step out of his way and apologize. “Of course. I can ring you up at the front.” Some sort of spell has just broken, but I’m not sure if it’s the kind I can afford to indulge in right now.

When we reach the register, Rhysand hesitates. I wonder if he is questioning his purchase, but an entirely different suggestion comes out.

“Feyre, what if I buy this building instead?”

I’m not sure what to say for a moment. I don’t understand the implications of what he is saying, or why he would suggest it. 

“Why would you do that?”

“Because my company is looking to expand its real estate holdings. Because it would piss Amarantha off. And because it would help you keep your store.”

I lean against the glass-encased bookshelves behind the register. It’s where we keep our rare editions, and opening these cases for a customer can often mean paying rent for the month. “But… why?”

Rhysand chuckles. “Can’t a guy do a good thing in this city?”

“No,” I say. I don’t know how to answer him other than honestly. “Sorry, Rhysand, it’s just that I find it hard to believe that a stranger would come in to my store and offer to save it. It’s too easy.”

“Well for one thing, you forgot to call me a ‘handsome’ stranger. For another thing, call me Rhys. And finally, I think you should know that I’m not going to throw money at you to keep this place open. You’ll still have to pay rent and all of that. I just won’t kick you out to replace you with a chain store or a coffee shop.”

I look away from him. It’s too hard to be rational when he’s staring at me with those violet eyes, not to mention the way that the warm light from the chandelier has made him even more impossibly attractive.

This could be the answer to everything. If Rhys can find a way to buy the building out from under Amarantha, it could give me more time. Tamlin might not be happy. But that hardly matters, not when everything I’ve fought for could be lost.

“Feyre? Will you let me help you?”

For the second time in the past few days, my head is filled with the noise of pleasant, if hesitant surprise. This would solve everything. I would be able to hold on to the bookstore. Support my family. 

And without having to rely on Tamlin, or anyone else, to do it. 

“Yes.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre begins wedding planning, while Rhys has another proposition for her.

Questions are ringing through my head before I even wake up the next morning. Not the questions that Tamlin and Rhysand - excuse me, Rhys - have asked me. No. The ones that I know everyone is going to be asking me in the coming weeks.

Questions like: so when will you and Tamlin have children? Or, how do you think you’ll be able to work with Rhysand, don’t you know how much of a hardass he is? Or, when is the wedding, am I invited? How many children will you have? And the one I dread the most: will you be giving up the store?

As if me marrying Tam would mean that I cease to have a life and interests of my own. I suppose that I would have more time to paint or pursue other interests that have fallen by the wayside, but… I’ve grown attached. There is a comfort to the quiet lull as the sun goes down, and that’s perhaps not the most practical reason to want to keep the store, but it’s still mine. That orange chair in the corner that holds the ghost of my mother is still a part of home.

And there is the question of Rhys, what he is willing to do to help me. Or rather, what he is doing to help his own company, and myself in the process. It’s a convenient arrangement. 

But I think of another question, one that might even be worse, and come from Tamlin. How could I choose to work with Rhysand? It’s not merely that question, but the other insinuations. How much time we will spend together, how involved Rhys will be in running the store, the expectation that I be friendly to him at social gatherings. 

My stomach turns in anticipation of the ways I will need to explain this situation so as not to upset Tamlin. 

My phone buzzes and I check. It’s Tamlin. He is sending over a wedding planner, and will make it as soon as he can. I roll over and decide that I should wear one of the dresses he gave me ages ago, one that was for a more casual afternoon. At least this wedding planner won’t judge me for wearing the thing twice. 

By the time she shows up a couple of hours later, I’m showered, have eaten, and have begun organizing my closet. I want to throw out, or more accurately donate, much of the clothing that Tamlin has bought me, but I know what his apartment is like. He would argue that space is no issue, not like it is here at my dad’s place, and therefore no reason to get rid of them. 

I told my dad last night about the engagement. He has been aflutter since then. And of course I had to tell him. It’s not as if he wouldn’t notice his youngest daughter finally moving out of the house and in with her fiancé. Sometimes I think his social aspirations are more intense than Nesta’s. I’ll wait until this weekend to tell Nesta and Elain. I’m not sure what to expect from them. Nesta has never been a fan of Tamlin’s, though they haven’t spent much time together.

That’s probably for the best, if I’m being honest. 

When the knock comes at the door, I’m not sure what I expect. Someone put-together, professional, hopefully stylish. I don’t expect the gorgeous blonde, nearly a head taller than me, and for a moment I wonder if Tamlin met her personally before making the decision to hire her.

She extends her hand to shake mine. “Feyre, I assume? My name is Ianthe. I’m here to help you plan your special day.” She smiles widely, and I’m immediately intimidated. Ianthe seems more at home at one of Tamlin’s social functions. Not planning them, but throwing them, hosting, greeting everyone with champagne in hand, draped in some luxurious, shimmering fabric. Well, I suppose she would need to look the part, to be hired by those families.

I step aside after greeting her, showing her to the living room. I see her take in the space, making mental notes. I can practically hear her thoughts: small, cluttered, a stifled sense of style, too much personal detritus lying around. How might she classify my style? What sort of theme would she see for the wedding, based on my home?

Ianthe sits in a wingback chair and crosses her legs, placing a notebook on her knee. She looks at me, rather than opening it. She’s evaluating me now, I think.

“Would you like anything to drink?” I hope she doesn’t ask for anything specific or exotic. I only have a glass of water. Preparation for the long, detailed discussion about an event that I’m not invested in. Or at least, not enough to pay what are doubtless exorbitant fees that someone like her would charge.

“No, thank you.” She smiles sweetly. 

She gives me congratulations, and I steel myself for the onslaught of questions. Instead, we chat. I tell her about the bookstore, she tells me how long she has been planning weddings. When I ask her how she met Tamlin, she waves her hand in the air and says that they go way back. 

I’d really like to know how far back she means, and why I’ve never met her before. 

I glance over at the clock on the wall, trying to figure out when Tamlin will show up. By the fourth time I have looked over, a light knock comes at the door, followed by his voice calling for me from the foyer. I call out, telling him we are in the living room. 

When Tamlin comes in, he shakes off his coat and throws it over the arm of the couch. He sits next to me, placing his arm on my leg and leaning in close. I’m grateful to use him as an anchor. 

“I see you two were getting acquainted?” He kisses my forehead. “I hope you haven’t been harassing my fiancée too intensely, Ianthe.” Tamlin wraps his around around my shoulders and pulls me in tight. It’s an oddly proprietary gesture, considering. Or perhaps it isn’t about claiming me, but making a different type of statement. It doesn’t sit well with me, either way.

“I would never, Tam.” 

Tam. So they really do go back. Shaking off my sense of unease, I begin to ask Ianthe questions. “How long do you think we will need to plan this wedding? And how much will it cost? I don’t make much, you know. And really, I don’t want too many guests.”

Tamlin chuckles and I hear dismissal in it. “I’ll be covering the cost, of course,” he says to Ianthe, ignoring me. “I want to spare no expense, and I would like this to happen sooner, rather than later.”

“What time of year were you thinking of having the ceremony?” Ianthe asks. She is no longer bothering to look at me, and I feel cut out of the conversation.

“Spring,” Tamlin says. I look at him in surprise. We hadn’t even discussed it, and that would be mere months away. “I have begun a guest list, and I’m thinking it might be upwards of a thousand people.”

I choke on my water and set my glass down on the table as Tamlin asks if I’m alright, if I need anything.

“Can I talk to you?” I glance at Ianthe. “Alone?”

She stands, and Tamlin jumps up to follow. “I need to get going, I’m afraid. I just wanted to meet you, Feyre, get a sense of your personality.” She smiles again. “I’ll set up another meeting soon, to go over some of the details. If you could send me an exact date and guest amount, I can suggest venues. And then we can move on from there.”

Ianthe leaves in a cloud of perfume and proper manners, and I feel drabber for having met her. 

Tamlin returns to my side. “What did you want to talk about, Feyre?” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. 

“Are you sure we can do it that soon? And what about the guests? Do we even know a thousand people?”

“Feyre, don’t worry too much about it. That’s what Ianthe is for. To make sure we get what we want.”

I nod. This is the sort of thing that Elain will marvel over. I can practically see her now, hopping up and down and clapping and exclaiming over color palettes and floral arrangements. But that’s her. Not me. And it’s my wedding.

“Tamlin, will you promise me something?”

“Anything, Feyre.”

“Can we make sure that this wedding is about us? Not other people?”

Tamlin frowns slightly. “How could it be any other way?”

He doesn’t see it. Doesn’t understand that in his world, every movement we make will be scrutinized, and that scrutiny affects his decisions in ways he doesn’t even notice.

“Just promise me, Tamlin.”

“I promise, Feyre. Now, shall we talk about honeymoon plans?”

“Now that is something I am very, very interested in.” I throw an arm around his shoulders and lean in close, inches away from his face. But then I remember the store, the other question I was asked. 

“Tamlin, I need to tell you something.”

“What’s that?”

The moment I tell him about Rhys buying the building out from under Amarantha, the mood will be ruined. The rest of our afternoon will be spent fighting, him asking how I could possibly accept assistance from someone like that. He’s never understood, what it means to fight for something. 

I bite my lip and shake my head. “Actually, later. Let’s just think about this stuff, for now.”

Tamlin pulls me in even closer, saying damn the wedding plans, and no more decisions are made for the day.

*****

The counter of the bookstore is covered in brochures and samples and photography. All of it is wedding-related, dropped off by Ianthe this morning. 

I’ve run fabric samples through my fingers (tablecloths), glanced through china patterns and place setting samples, but all of it seems so much. They don’t bother putting prices on anything, which is the first thing I checked, and the last thing Tamlin will worry about. 

Ianthe has marked some pages in a book of wedding dresses that she thinks might suit me. They are all huge, poofy as they could possibly be. They say much less about me and much more about what sort of impression she and Tamlin would like me to make. I’m sure they will insist I have something custom, so these are just reference, suggestions. And I’m sure I’ll be gently guided by both of their capable hands into something suiting the occasion.

“Good afternoon, Feyre darling.” Rhys’s voice is a surprisingly welcome distraction from the riot of excess that my wedding will become.

“Hi, Rhys.”

“I like the way that sounds.” He takes off his coat and throws it across the counter, disturbing some brochures. I don’t care.

“The way what sounds?”

“My name. The way you say it.”

“Oh.” I look away from him. Why did he have to make this awkward?

“Apologies. I forgot you are an engaged woman.”

“Well, I’d hardly say that liking the way your name sounds coming from my mouth is inappropriate. Especially since it feels nice to me, too.” And there it is. Now _I’ve_ made it awkward. “Ok, so anyway, what are you doing here? Buying some more books?”

“Perhaps next time. No, I’m here to talk to you about our deal.”

I smile. Of the two major decisions I’ve made in the past week, this one feels infinitely more manageable. But I suppose that depends on how Rhys wants to handle our relationship.

I mean, our business relationship. I didn’t mean it that way.

“I don’t have a proper meeting room, and I need to keep an eye on the store. Do you mind talking here?”

“Of course not.” Rhys pushes the sleeves of his dark grey sweater up his arms, where I notice the edges of dark, swirling tattoos. 

“I didn’t know businessmen were allowed to have tattoos. Don’t they pour you all out of a mold or something?”

He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Not exactly. But it’s quite easy to hide these you know, with our required regulation uniforms.” 

“It does seem rather boring, trying to dress as a man.”

“And those dresses that Tamlin buys you, do you enjoy wearing those instead?”

I frown. “How did you know he does that?”

Rhys comes around the counter, sliding his hand across it and disturbing more of the wedding materials. They fall to the floor, and neither of us care.

“They don’t seem like you. This,” he says, reaching up to finger the fringed edge of my warm, deep purple knitted sweater, “seems more like you. It’s a decision you made. Plus, I know what bookstore owners make. And they can’t exactly afford Chanel.”

“True. You have me there.” A thought occurs to me, and I want to ask before I lose my nerve. “Would you happen to know of a place where I can donate things like that? For charity?”

Rhys’s face becomes contemplative. “I do. I could have someone help you with that, if you’d like. My cousin, Morrigan, I think, would be helpful. She might demand the right to choose a few pieces herself though, as payment. Would Tamlin be ok with it?”

I slump onto a stool. “I wasn’t aware I needed his permission.”

“Of course not.”

“So what did we need to discuss?” I’m growing increasingly uncomfortable at how familiar Rhys is growing, with me, with this space. My only comfort is that the current owner of the building visits so infrequently that I didn't realize who it was. I can only hope that Rhys has a similar philosophy, when it comes to the buildings he owns. 

“I wanted to let you know that I’m not just interested in you keeping this place, but helping it thrive. I have a lot of contacts who can assist you. I could offer you a loan to hire more staff, or to bulk up your inventory.”

“You don’t think I should remodel?”

“Why would you ask that? Besides, I rather like that chandelier. If you remodeled, I’d have to demand you either keep that, or let me use it in my own home.”

“No reason,” I say. Tamlin hates the way this place looks and smells. I’ve tried telling him that my customers, and I, don’t want it to be any different.

“There’s another option, and it’s the main reason why I’m here.”

“Which is?”

“The store next door has decided to close. I let them know about the impending changes, and they decided to retire.”

I’m not sure where he’s going with this, so I wait.

“If you’d like, you could take over their lease.”

I laugh. Short, quick. “Take over their lease? How could I possibly afford that? There would be the extra rent, not to mention the cost of shifting everything around, the additional staff. What do I need the space for?”

Rhys takes the stool next to me. “It’s only a suggestion. You could use the space to expand, have book clubs, bring in authors for readings. It could help you find additional customers.”

“I’ll think about it.” I’m not sure what to say. One minute, I was spending each day trying to figure out how to hold on to what I had, and now I am contemplating making this place into something not only viable, but successful.

“Can I ask you something, Rhys?”

“Sure.”

“Are you going to be here often?”

Rhys makes a face. An amused frown, which I didn’t know was possible. 

“Why, concerned about your fiancé?” Rhys chuckles. “Just make sure that Tam and I don’t run into one another. Maybe we could make a schedule? Or code words. You just text me ‘the repairman has entered the building’ and I’ll know not to come.”

I know he’s joking, but I frown. Compartmentalizing my life like that doesn’t sound effective or like something I want to spend my time on. 

“Rhys,” I begin, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea. Can’t you be more hands-off? Just let me work here and keep doing what I’ve been doing? The current owner of the building has been just fine doing that.”

“I considered it.” He sits on a stool behind the counter, yet manages to make it look like a throne, his posture erect and proper. “However, I take a more personal interest in my investments.”

“Then I imagine you will be visiting the other businesses in the building as often, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Can you tell me what other shops there are here on the ground floor? Not all of the offices above, of course. Just list the ones that have a storefront on the street.”

Rhys is a mixture of amused and annoyed. He holds up his paper coffee cup. “Well, there is this lovely shop next door. And the furniture store next door, which is closing.”

“And?”

“And… alright, I’m not sure what other shops are here. I’m not even sure what companies are renting office space above.”

I grin, triumphant, but I’m not sure what I’ve won. A revelation that Rhys is more interested in my shop than others, for reasons unknown to me? Given that our conversations seem more like competitions to get each other to reveal information, I begin to wonder why we can’t just ask each other open questions, like normal people. 

And I’m not sure that I should be glad to know that his interest in me might be more than professional.

“Don’t smile at me like that, Feyre.”

“Like what?” 

His eyes are glued to my mouth, and my smile falters. “Like you’ve won this round. I’m just getting started.”

“On learning more about your investment? Or trying to rattle me?”

Rhys hops off his stool and stands before me. I’m not sure what he’s going to do, and I don’t think he knows, either.

He is insufferably handsome. But then, so is Tamlin. My fiancé. The man I am moving in with this weekend, the one who has provided for me and my family this past year.

Rhys’s phone buzzes and he checks. “Oh, I need to go, I’m running behind to meet my cousin.”

“Morrigan?”

“Yeah, I think you’d like her. I’ll bring her around next time, actually. She’s a lawyer at my company, so you’ll be speaking with her soon enough. And then you can talk donations and such.”

“Why? I mean, don’t I just need to sign a new lease once the purchase goes through?”

Rhysand pauses. “Yeah. But still, like I said, I think you’d get along.”

The bell above the door rings. “Ah, customers,” Rhys says. “I can imagine that that bell has an odd effect on you, whenever someone comes in?”

“You have no idea,” I sigh. I can’t help but realize that Tamlin has never said anything so observant. 

Rhysand tips an imaginary hat at me and turns to leave, but is stopped in his tracks. Lucien has come in, and he looks at Rhys warily.

“Lucien, lovely seeing you here.”

“Rhysand. I didn’t realize you were a book lover.”

“I’m hurt, Lucien. Don’t you remember that poetry I lent you? I still need that back, by the way. What was it? Richard Siken? Rather gay, if I remember. But then, that is what you were looking for.” Rhys runs his leather gloves through his hands before sliding them on. “Yes, that’s what it was. I can make some additional recommendations, if you’d like.”

Rhys steps close to Lucien until they are close enough to touch. I might step between them, but the tension is palpable, and I want no part of it. I feel like I’ve stepped into the middle of a lover’s quarrel, and I am at least as surprised at that as I am that it’s Rhys and Lucien having this conversation.

Lucien is turning a color I didn’t know he was capable of, and I step out from behind the counter. 

“Lucien, hi. Come to take me to lunch?” I glance at Rhys. God, but he is good at looking like a cat who has a mouse in his jaws.

“Feyre, what is he doing here?” Lucien sidesteps Rhys, who turns around to watch us.

“Rhys is buying this building. He came to discuss some business things with me.”

“Does Tamlin know?” 

I look over his shoulder to Rhys. “I’ll talk to you later, right?” He needs to leave, before he hears Lucien asking me more questions like that. 

“I’ll send Morrigan your way soon, Feyre. And Lucien, good to see you. I’ll keep an eye out for some more reading material you might enjoy.”

Lucien watches my face as Rhys speaks and then leaves.

“So, are you going to answer my question?”

“Oh, don’t be an ass, Lucien. Tamlin doesn’t know, and I’ll let him know when I’m ready. What was that, though?” 

Lucien grabs my coat and hands it to me. “What was what?”

“You and Rhys. Is something going on?”

“No. Well, yes. Or no, not really. It was a long time ago.” Lucien’s color is coming back, and it’s not due to anger anymore.

I grin. “Aw, Lucien, did you have a crush?”

He snorts. “It was a mistake, trust me. All of it. Can we go to lunch?” 

I grab my keys and turn the sign on my door around to ‘Closed’. “Only if you promise to give me all of the details. Spare nothing. You do that, and I promise to tell Tamlin about the building thing. Tomorrow.”

“If I didn’t like you, Feyre Archeron, I’d tell you to go to hell.”

I lock the door behind us and blow Lucien kisses. “That may be true, but you wouldn’t have me any other way.”


	6. Chapter 6

Over lunch, Lucien tells me about his fling with Rhys. He can’t keep from turning various colors, and I know he’s not quite over Rhys. I can’t blame him. Or either of them, really.   
  
My mind starts to wander part way through our conversation. What must it be like, the two of them, alone together? What would it be like to fit in between them on silk sheets? I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Lucien can never find out I had these thoughts. Nor, for that matter, can Rhys.  
  
I give Lucien a quick peck on the cheek when I leave, promising to call him when I want to meet for lunch again.   
  
I’m heading home before I check in with Tamlin, see what he’s up to for the evening. I leave my phone in my pocket, knowing that if I check it, I’ll have to answer him. At least this way I can have some peace, pretend he isn’t looking for my read receipts.   
  
When I walk into my apartment I call out a quick hello to my dad, and then make my way to my room.   
  
I’m stopped short when I see that it is completely empty. And not only that, but it has been cleaned. It’s as if I was never there. I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Tamlin. He hasn’t written me, but I know exactly why.  
  
 _What did you do?_  
  
 _Come home, find out yourself._  
  
I sigh. We weren’t supposed to start moving my stuff until the weekend. I hate the thought of him hiring people to go through my things, having them put all of it away in his apartment without letting me know. Who knows if I’ll be able to find half of it. Plus, there’s the fact that I have a hand-written journal that I’d rather he not look through. And I’m not sure I can trust him to not take a peek.   
  
I go to Tamlin’s - my - apartment. When I walk in the door there is no sign of boxes, no sign of any of my belongings. I throw my purse on the couch.  
  
“Where’s my stuff?”  
  
“Hello, Feyre. Nice to see you too.” Tamlin leans against the kitchen bar and crosses his arms.   
  
“Tamlin, you didn’t let me know you were moving my stuff.” I’m trying not to sound like I’m angry with him, or like I’m scolding him. Heaven knows, that would only make everything worse.   
  
“I thought this would be a nice surprise. So you wouldn’t have to worry about moving, and we can enjoy this coming weekend just the two of us. No moving heavy boxes, no sweating, no organizing. Just us.” He pushes away from the counter and approaches me, placing his hands on my hips.  
  
“And my dad just let you do it?”  
  
Tamlin smirks. “Why would he deny me? His future son-in-law?”  
  
Tamlin is so used to getting his way, the thought probably hadn’t even occurred to him, that I might not want him to do this without letting me know.   
  
“I need to see where everything is. I might want to rearrange it.”   
  
He backs away and takes my hand, leading me to the bedroom. A walk-in closet is now full of my clothes, organized more than I ever had them by color and style. The dresser has my socks and underwear, and I’m assuming my vibrator. I wonder who had the job of packing and unpacking that. I’ll have to disinfect it.   
  
I turn to Tamlin, my arms crossed now. “I’m not ok with this, Tam. I need you to let me in on decisions like this, in the future.”  
  
He smiles, trying to brush off my annoyance. “You were moving in here anyway, Fey. And it’s not like you enjoy moving. Though I do see what you mean about all the dresses I’ve bought you.   
  
“Oh,” I say, unsure of how to proceed. “I think I actually have an idea about what to do with those. I’ll get back to you.”  
  
“Alright.” Tamlin looks somewhat surprised, wary, and not quite pleased that I have kept thinking about donating them, despite his instructions.  
  
Spending the rest of the evening trying to figure out where my kitchen utensils are doesn’t sound like a way to keep the peace between us. “Want to order Chinese?”   
  
Tamlin recognizes the suggestion for what it is, and grasps it like a life raft. “Yes, and then I’ll show you how cozy we can get in bed with the fireplace on.”  
  
 *********  
  
Despite the fact that Tamlin has a Keurig and a $1,000 espresso machine at home, I need a latte from the coffee shop next to my bookstore. Moving in with Tamlin means I can no longer walk to work and have to take the subway. At the time I hadn’t given it much thought, knowing that he would have his driver be at my disposal. But something about taking a car hired by Tamlin grates at me, feels like chains tightening around my ankles.   
  
So this morning, waking up before Tamlin notices, I slip out of bed, throw my hair up in a messy bun, and head downtown.   
  
I’m at the cafe, cardboard cup grasped in my hands when I turn and run into someone wearing black.   
  
“Oh!”  
  
“Feyre, fancy meeting you here.”   
  
It’s Rhysand. His dark grey scarf is wrapped haphazardly around his neck, the only piece of his outfit that isn’t black.   
  
I paw uselessly at the wool front of his coat where my coffee has splashed him, but he grabs my hand and pulls it away.  
  
“Feyre, it’s fine. I’ll get it dry cleaned.”   
  
“Hi, Rhys.” I smile up at him. He’s still holding my hand, and it swings at my side, anchored by him. I take a step back, separating us.   
  
“What are you doing here so early?” he asks. “Don’t you normally have someone else cover the store today?”  
  
“Yes. How did you know?” I’m not sure if I’m flattered or creeped out that he noticed.  
  
“I like to keep up on my investments, make sure they are sound.”  
  
“The same way you keep up on which businesses rent space in those investments?” I grin.   
  
“You’ve got me there.” He glances around the shop. “Are you busy? Or would you like to sit and talk?”  
  
Outside the rain has begun to fall again, and threatens to turn to snow. It falls in familiar sleety clumps on the sidewalks. The idea of catching the subway home now, being jostled by crowds of strangers, is not enticing.   
  
I turn to Rhys. “Let’s sit by the window.”   
  
He takes off his coat and folds it carefully before hooking it beneath the bar along the window. He’s wearing a deep blue sweater today, and I have to stop myself from reaching out and feeling the knitting.   
  
I settle onto the stool next to Rhys. Looking out the window at the people passing is easier than looking at him, and not only because I might lose myself in his violet eyes. I can’t help thinking about Tamlin, and how he will be upset at our arrangement.   
  
Setting all of that aside, I look at him. “So, when can I expect Morrigan to stop by?” I sip my latte.  
  
“Straight to business then?”   
  
“Well, what else should we discuss?”  
  
“I can think of one or two things. How about books?” Rhys hasn’t touched his coffee since we sat, and I wonder how he takes it.  
  
“Really? And you’re asking why I wanted to talk about work? You realize that’s all I do.”  
  
“Well, yes. You sell books. But what do you read?”  
  
I tap my fingers on the counter. I feel like I’m being tested, but I’m not sure what the expected outcome is, or the prize.   
  
“I read everything.”  
  
Rhys laughs, his head thrown back. “That’s a cop out answer Feyre, and you know it.” His smile is so warm that I feel my cheeks begin to heat. “How about this. I give you a book recommendation and you have to read it, and you do the same. And I promise to read it.” He holds his hand up, palm out, indicating that an oath is being taken.   
  
I hold my hand up to mirror his. “I will read whatever you recommend, and you do the same. But how long do we have?”  
  
“Well, you being a bookseller, I’d assume a week is enough time?”  
  
I frown slightly. I have no idea what Tamlin has planned. My life has become much less my own in the space of one day, and I don’t know how to work it all out. But if I can’t even plan on time to read, then I’ve really lost a part of myself.   
  
I extend my hand. “It’s a deal. But I think we should say no books that are over a thousand pages. Just to keep things fair.”  
  
Rhys shakes my hand and then nods, contemplating. “I might need a moment to decide what I want you to read. How are you doing, though?” He looks into my eyes like he expects a genuine, honest answer. And I can’t help but give it to him.  
  
“I’ve been better. I moved in with Tamlin.” Rhys makes a noise to acknowledge the news. “Or rather, he moved me in. I didn’t realize. But it’s fine. We were planning on it anyway. And the wedding plans are underway. We have a wedding planner. Ianthe.”  
  
Rhys frowns. I’m not sure what to make of it. He takes a drink of his coffee and gazes out of the window at the sleet coming down, the people trying their futile best to dodge it.   
  
“So anyway, we are thinking a spring wedding, even though it’s pretty soon.” I take a drink from my coffee to keep from making excuses.   
  
He nods and makes noncommittal noise. “And are you happy?”  
  
I start, set my coffee cup down. I can’t remember the last time someone has asked me that. They always assume that I am. Owning a bookstore, being Tamlin’s girlfriend, and now his fiancée, it’s what so many other women might want. The semblance of independence, coupled with a partner who can make up for any need I might lack. Who could ask for more?   
  
“Yes,” I say.   
  
Rhys raises one eyebrow. “If you say so.”  
  
“Why challenge me now?” I sound exasperated. It takes so little to make me question the choices I have made recently, and coming from someone whose actions have shown me nothing but kindness, I’m afraid I will start asking questions I had been avoiding.  
  
“I’ve known Tamlin a long time, Feyre. Far longer than you have. And I wouldn’t exactly trust him to make anyone happy but himself. But if you say you are happy, I’ll believe you.”  
  
“Good.” My gaze turns back outside the window. The sleet has turned into snow. I didn’t wear shoes for that, and wonder if I can wait it out. “I am happy.” Technically, it’s true. But feeling it is another question.   
  
Rhys raises his cup, and I meet it with my own. “Cheers.”  
  
“Cheers,” I echo.   
  
“So, what book are you going to make me read?”   
  
I rest my chin on the heel of my palm, elbow on the counter, contemplating. “ _Jane Eyre_.” Rhys seems like the type of guy who might do well to read about the limitations women have labored under for centuries, even if the circumstances have improved since then.  
  
Rhys laughs. “Really? Ok. Well, I happen to have a copy at home.”  
  
“And have you even cracked it?”   
  
“No,” he admits.  
  
“And what will you have me read?” I have no idea of his tastes, his inclinations, if he will want to make this a challenge for me or something more enjoyable.  
  
“You, darling Feyre, will read _Mrs. Dalloway_.”  
  
I blink. A story about a woman who is throwing a party, only to realize that the artifice of her happy, well-bred life is little more than that. The darkness that resides underneath, the restless energy, the discontent with everything a woman is supposed to strive for, it all sits beneath the surface of that book. I don’t call Rhys out on the transparency of his requirement, for fear that that’s exactly what he wants.  
  
“Have you read it?” Rhys asks.   
  
“No. I've only heard of it.” I finish my latte in a few more gulps. The snow has abated, but probably not for long. I stand and pull on my coat. “I need to head home now. Tamlin is hopefully still asleep.”  
  
Rhys follows me and stands, pulling on his own wool coat. “Would you like a ride home?”  
  
I look back out the window. The sidewalks are part slush, part ice, and the idea of the slick tile floors of the subway aren’t appealing.  
  
“Alright. But no funny business.”  
  
“What ever would you mean by that, Feyre darling?”  
  
I glare. “You know what I mean. You may not be interested in me,” I say, “but you and Tamlin aren’t exactly best friends.”  
  
He looks at me in mock surprise.  
  
“Yes, I managed to tell that much. So I’m just saying, don’t take me home if your goal is to piss Tamlin off or something.”  
  
Rhys holds his palm up for the second time this morning. “On my honor as a handsome, irresistible man, the most eligible bachelor in all the city, I swear to you, Feyre Archeron, to neither initiate nor conduct any ‘funny business’.”  
  
I roll my eyes, and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too broadly. “Alright. Where did you park?”  
  
“Just a few blocks away. I promise, you won’t regret the small jaunt.”  
  
By the time we reach Rhys’s car, I’m chilled to the bone. We don’t talk on the way there, just trying to concentrate on not slipping on the icy sidewalks. When I slid into the leather seats, I’m immediately comfortable. When he turns on the heat, I sigh with happiness.  
  
“Do you know where Tamlin, or I mean, do you know where I live?”  
  
Rhys nods. “Indeed. I’ve had enough dealings with his family.”  
  
We drive along for a few moments in silence, the only sound the warm arm coming from the car, the quiet jazz coming from his stereo, and the rush of sleet against the tires.  
  
“Thanks, Rhys.” I don’t even realize I’m going to thank him until the words come out.  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For asking how I am?” I’ve made it into a question and I feel ridiculous for doing so. “I mean, thanks for asking if I’m happy. Everyone else assumes I am. That being with Tamlin is wonderful, that having someone to support me is the ultimate goal or something? I don’t really get it. I got my degree not really caring how much money I made. I didn’t get it assuming someone would be there to make up for the fact that I didn’t go into a lucrative field.”   
  
I play with the buttons on my jacket. Rhys stays silent for so long that I’m not sure he heard me.   
  
“You’re welcome, Feyre.”  
  
We pull up in front of my building and I feel like I should shake Rhys’s hand, or give him a kiss on the cheek, or something. Something more intimate than saying thanks and hopping out of the car.  
  
In the end, I look over at him and wait.  
  
“It was nice running into you. For non work-related purposes,” Rhys says. He doesn’t look over at me.  
  
“Yeah. It was. I supposed I’ll see you around, at the bookstore, or somewhere.”  
  
“Yeah. By the way, Feyre. Mor will come to see you tomorrow.”  
  
“Ok, I’ll keep an eye out. And Rhys?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Thanks for the ride.”  
  
 *********  
  
When I get home, Tamlin is in the living room talking to someone. A soft, feminine laugh follows his deep tones, and I enter as quietly as I can.  
  
Ianthe is sitting facing the entrance, while Tamlin has his back to me. She smiles at me sweetly, and there is something daring in it, though I’m not sure what it is she thinks I won’t do.  
  
Tamlin sees her expression and turns to me, exclaiming my name as I hang my purse on the hook by the door.   
  
“Ianthe made it here a bit earlier than we were planning. Come, sit. She has some samples for us to look at, and some venue suggestions.”  
  
I sit on the couch, cross my legs, and look at what is spread across the coffee table. The pictures are a riot of flowers and color and landscapes, and I can hardly make out what is supposed to be part of the decor and what’s supposed to be a location where we might vow to spend the rest of our lives together.  
  
“We’ve decided to have the wedding in April,” Tamlin says.   
  
‘We’? As in him and Ianthe? I raise an eyebrow.   
  
“It will be a good time for us, many of the venues will be available, and then we can take the whole summer away, to travel and settle and plan our family.” He’s beaming.   
  
“Alright.”  
  
“Feyre,” Ianthe says, and I’m sure her voice would be soothing to those whose nerves need it. “We would like to know what kind of flowers you want. The colors you want to go with will determine a lot of our other decisions.”  
  
“Not red roses. They were my mother’s favorite. I can’t… I’m afraid I would be too sad.” I look to Tamlin, and he grasps my hand, raising it to his lips.  
  
“Of course, of course.” He turns to Ianthe. “No red roses, then.”  
  
“And the venue,” Ianthe continued. I notice she didn’t write down my request. “Tamlin and I thought that the botanical gardens might be lovely. Everything will just be coming into bloom, and it will have the space you need for the guests.”  
  
The space. The guests. The botanical gardens. As if these details were already decided, as if Tamlin and Ianthe know my mind better than I do.   
  
“Tamlin, I need to talk to you.” I need this discussion to stop. I need Ianthe to leave.  
  
He pats my leg absently. “Later, babe.”  
  
“It’s about Rhys.”  
  
Tamlin’s expression darkens and he turns to Ianthe. “I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this later. I’ll email you some more of the details tomorrow. Or my dear Feyre will.” He looks at me pointedly, and I feel as if I’m a naughty child who has been caught shirking her duties.   
  
While Ianthe packs away her things, my mind wanders to Rhys. I try to keep myself from smiling. If Tamlin notices, he’ll ask me about it. And I can’t exactly tell him that I’m sitting here with him, thinking about a clever remark that another man made. Especially if that other man is Rhys.   
  
I wait until I hear the elevator doors close until I speak. “Remember the issue with Amarantha? And how I wasn’t going to be able to keep the store?”  
  
“Sure.” The casual way that Tamlin responds reminds me of how he has failed to take this seriously, and I have to admit that a part of me takes pleasure in the fact that he will not be happy about this news.   
  
“I found a solution.”  
  
“Oh, that’s great, Fey. Why did you need to talk to me about it?” He makes a move to call one of the housekeepers to clear away our glasses and I put my hand on his arm.  
  
“Because it’s Rhys. Rhys offered to buy the building, and he’s going to make sure that all the stores stay in it. Including mine.”  
  
Tamlin’s expression is blank, at first. Then a darkness comes over it. Familiar and dreaded. He stands and goes to the bar, pouring himself a drink.   
  
“When did this happen?”  
  
“A couple of days ago.”  
  
“And you didn’t think to ask me first?”  
  
I’m taken aback. “What would I ask you? It’s my family’s store. You have nothing to do with it.” I’m going to stand my ground. I won’t let him change my mind. Not when this store has been around my entire life, and he recently came into it.   
  
“There are some things you need to realize, Feyre, if you want to move forward with this engagement.”  
  
Tamlin’s words sound like an ultimatum, and one I’m not going to like.   
  
“What are you saying, Tam?”  
  
“I’m saying that I don’t want you to spend any more time with him than necessary. I’m saying that I need to know when you are going to meet with him, and I’ll need you to keep me updated on any changes.”  
  
I bite my lip. I can deal with what Tamlin wants. It’s not as if I want to spend time with Rhys, not really.  
  
“Fine.” Even as the words leave my lips I know I won’t keep this promise. Not if it means sacrificing anything that my family or I need. But I’ll never tell Tamlin that.   
  
Instead, I smile, and tilt my head, and look gracious. And remind myself of how much I love my fiancé.


	7. Chapter 7

_Fine._

The word echoes in my head as I wake up, and I hate myself for it. I’m tossing and turning in the bed with so much energy that Tamlin turns over long enough to snap at me, tell me to go back to sleep, before rolling back over on his side.

Instead, I throw the sheets off, not caring if I’m letting cold air in. I stand and walk to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face before looking up into the mirror.

_Fine._

I hate that word.

Nothing is fine about the way that Tamlin asked me to keep him informed about spending time with Rhys. Nothing is fine about the fact that my family doesn’t notice that I’m slowly drowning under the pile of work at the store. And nothing is fine about the way that my life is as if on railroad tracks, careening towards something I never intended.

I discover that I can indeed get bags under my eyes, and they even have slightly dark circles around them. If it’s because of a lack of sleep or other stresses, I don’t know. I run my fingers through my hair, sigh.

Nothing would be worse than sitting there alone, fuming at myself and at Tamlin. I need someone else to share in my misery. I go back into the bedroom, yank my phone from its charger, and then go back to the bathroom. I sit on the toilet and tap at the screen until I’ve made up my mind.

_Are you awake?_

I’m texting Rhys. I tell myself that it’s just because Tamlin wouldn’t approve. I don’t expect stimulating conversation or anything. I know that it seems ridiculous and childish, but don’t judge me. You would indulge in the same. Especially if it came with violet eyes like those.

The reply comes almost immediately.

_No, I am asleep right now. In fact, I am dreaming about you._

I snort, then look up to the door to make sure I haven’t brought Tamlin in to investigate.

_I hope it’s a good dream._

I bit my bottom lip. I’m not sure what I mean by “good”, exactly. Ok, yes I do. And I am deeply, profoundly ashamed at my gall. But I’m also not going to stop. I watch for the little dots to turn into a message.

_Depends on how you define good. How is Tam?_

Bastard. I was fishing for something, and Rhys knew it. I’m glad he can’t hear me sighing in disappointment.

_Fine._

It’s one of the most loaded words of the morning, not that Rhys would know. But Tamlin is fine. He’s always just fine, as long as everyone around him conforms to whatever version of ‘fine’ he requires.

_Feyre, why are you writing me?_

I weigh my options. I could be honest and say that I’m angry, I need someone to talk to. I could make up some bullshit about needing to talk business, but I don’t know what we have to say until he becomes the owner of the building. 

I think of a third option.

_You said you were going to introduce me to your cousin._

_Morrigan. When do you want to meet?_

I think I can hear the relief through his text. I probably am too much, too complicated, too messed up, too entrenched in this relationship with Tam, for Rhys to want to deal with me more than he has to.

_This morning. Do you know if she’s free?_

_For dresses, Mor is always free._

*****

I slip out of the house, giving Tamlin vague excuses that are partly truth. I’m going to see someone about charity, about donating my clothing. He doesn’t need to know who I’m going to talk to, and he’s half asleep anyway.

I am meeting Rhys and Mor at a coffee shop downtown. Not the one near the bookstore, but more neutral territory. I’m quite curious what a cousin of Rhys’s might be like.

Once I order my coffee and take a seat, I contemplate texting Tamlin, letting him know where I’m at. He’ll wake up eventually and wonder. His mind will go straight to Rhys unless I hint otherwise. But what would be the point? He already knows what I’m doing, it shouldn’t matter who I meet in a public space. To talk about charity, no less. It’s not as if I’m meeting them at a sex club. We’re not shopping for dildos together. Though I have to admit, the idea is quite amusing.

A tall blonde walks into the café, hanging on Rhys’s arm and laughing so hard she’s almost doubled over. She looks like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine, effortless, but not nearly so cold as some of their set like to pretend fashion is supposed to be.

I look down at my own clothing and shrug. My jeans are splattered with paint from when I used to do that, my hair tied back in a floral handkerchief and a white fringed poncho keeping the cold out.

Rhys points Mor my way, and she approaches me with a wide smile and open arms. I’m a bit taken aback, to be perfectly honest. When Rhys said he had a cousin, that she did charity, that she understood fashion, I assumed she would be a frigid old society lady. Someone more like Amarantha, who would take one look at my clothes and say something about how, unfortunately, my dear, these pieces are so out of date that no one will give them a second glance.

Frick, Amarantha is a bitch.

I have no choice other than to let myself be taken in by Mor, and she hugs me as if she missed me. As if we are long-lost reunited friends. I have to admit, it’s enchanting, and I am a bit taken in by her.

“Feyre!” she exclaims. “I’m so glad to meet you. I’ve heard so much.” She smiles broadly and takes off her coat, throwing it in a haphazard pile on the seat next to me.

Rhys taps Mor on the shoulder, points to the café counter, receives a nod, and walks away, presumably in search of coffee.

Mor plants herself into the seat next to mine and folds her hands in front of herself on the table. “So, I hear you are looking at getting rid of some clothing? Some very nice clothing.”

I nod. “Yeah, they were gifts, but I can’t use it all. I work in a bookstore, so evening dresses aren’t exactly a big necessity for me. I usually wear them to events that my fiancé takes me to.”

“Do you know where you would like the money to go? I assume since you want to put them up for auction that you aren’t looking to keep the money.”

“Oh, no,” I say. In fact, the thought turns my stomach a bit, as if I were making a profit on something I haven’t worked for, when others are barely scraping by. No, I don’t plan on living off of Tamlin’s generosity as if I don’t have a care in the world, as if I never did.

“I think I’d like to find an organization that promotes art instruction for children. If there is such a thing.”

Mor smiles. “Of course there is. You know, if you made enough, you could always begin a foundation yourself. People love to sign over their money so they can feel like they’ve done their good deed for the day, pat themselves on the back as they go home to their penthouses and vacation homes.”

It’s my turn to grin. For someone who born in that world, Mor sure doesn’t pull any punches when it comes to calling them on their bullshit. “One step at a time. I think that might be a lot of work, and right now I’m just looking to get some more closet space.”

“Right,” Mor says, resting her elbows on the table. “Rhys told me about some of the things you have. A lavender YSL, a sundress he was fairly certain was Michael Kors, a pale green Marchesa?” 

I frown. “Yeah, but I can give you a more complete list. I took a general inventory, but there’s quite a bit.” It’s not like Rhys has been in my closet, and I swear I had never seen him at the events Mor just referenced by those outfits.

Rhys comes to sit with us, two coffees in hand. “I saw that you had a drink already, Feyre. But I got you something else.” From his coat pocket he procures a brown paper pastry bag. I open it to find a pink frosted cookie inside. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Thanks.” I’m simultaneously cursing myself, because fuck it if I haven’t forgotten Tamlin’s plans for us tonight. Or rather, his plans that he wanted to surprise me with. I’d better not hang out here too long.

“Feyre was just telling me about the pieces she wants to put up for auction.” Mor sips from her cup carefully, testing the temperature. She takes the lid off and blows on it to cool it. The coffee inside is a pale tan, testament to how much syrup and steamed milk must be in it.

“I hear she has quite the collection. From none other than Tamlin.”

Mor snorts. “You think Tamlin picked anything out? More likely he had Lucien do it for him.”

I blink. “You know them? Tamlin and Lucien?”

Mor rolls her eyes. “Yeah, we go way back. You have to understand, Feyre, we’re all practically family. Which makes our marriages nearly incestuous. It’s a good thing you’re joining our ranks. Fresh blood.” She smiles, and I know she’s joking. Or at least somewhat.

Rhys looks at the watch on his wrist - of course, he wears a watch - and looks to Mor. “I have to go. Sign some paperwork. You two have fun?”

I just now notice that he hadn’t taken his coat off. He must have rushed over here to introduce me to Mor before something important.

Mor offers her cheek, which Rhys pecks.

“And Feyre, no more texting me at that early hour, alright? I need to get my beauty sleep.”

I bite back my response. _I thought you were dreaming about me anyway._ I can’t say that out loud, not around Mor. She looks at me as if she knows what I’m thinking, and I can see her grin even from behind her coffee cup as she takes a drink.

“I’ll try not to,” is all I say in response.

“So,” Mor says, reclining back in her seat, “I think we should start with what you have. Which organizations might most benefit from the donation. And also why a nice girl like you is tied to someone like Tamlin.”

I take a bite of my bright pink cookie. “The first two subjects sound good, but you are on thin ice with that last one, Mor. I’d hate to ruin our budding friendship so soon.”

Mor shrugs. “I know. I’m just checking to see if you still have claws, or if he has taken care of those, too.”

“I’m fine,” I say. There’s that damn word again. 

“Good,” Mor says. “But I think you’d better check your phone.”

“What?” I look down and grab it out of my coat pocket, cursing quietly. I have a few unanswered texts from Tamlin and some missed calls, also from him. “I need to answer, sorry.” I type out some hurried messages, telling him which shop I’m at.

“So, he’s on his way,” I say apologetically. I don’t need to say who is on his way.

“Let’s make a plan,” Mor says, taking out her own phone. “When are you free? I think it would be best if I come by and take a look at what you have. Just to get an idea if we are talking a one-time donation, or something that could become bigger.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You might be overestimating what I have. I just hated to see all of that sitting there, going to waste.”

“How about in two days? I can come to your apartment when you’ve closed up shop. I’ll bring a bottle of wine. White, not red. Don’t want to ruin the merchandise.” She types something into her phone without waiting for a response, presumably our meeting.

A hand rests on my shoulder, and I look up to see Tamlin. His face is cool, passive. He must not have been far. I dread thinking about how long he must have been out looking for me. “Mor.”

“Tamlin.”

“Um, Tam, hey. So you know Mor. She’s the one helping me with the charity stuff. Or auction. I guess it’s the same thing?” I look to her for support.

“Feyre is lucky to have a guy like you, Tam. And to have a friend like me.” There’s a warning underneath Mor’s words. There is a lot of warning underneath her words, considering I’ve only known her a day.

Mor stands and pulls on her coat. “I need to be going. I’ll see you in a couple of days, yeah? And you, Tam.” She blows him a kiss. “If you’re there, I suppose I’ll see you, too.”

Tamlin waits until she is gone before he speaks. “Was Rhys here?”

I take in a breath. “Yes. I can explain.”

“Grab your stuff. Let’s go home.”

*********

Tamlin doesn’t say a word on the ride home. I want to scream and yell and say something to break the tension, the silence, but I know it’s pointless.

I take the silent time to try to figure out what’s going on. He might have had a meeting, or a deal go wrong, or perhaps there is something else happening he hasn’t told me about it. Surely he wouldn’t act like this just because of Rhys. Because of me. All I can do is give him my time, my patience.

When we get to the apartment he walks to his office, and I know I’m supposed to follow. So I do.

Tamlin slams his hand down on his desk and I jump involuntarily. “We had an agreement.” His voice is calm, much calmer than his actions would have me expect. “I realize that he is helping you out with the store. But I am your fiancé, Feyre. Don't forget what you promised me. Don’t you love me?”

His voice has become softer, nearly pitiful, and I move around the side of the desk to stand next to him. I place my hands on his shoulders and he leans forward, resting his forehead on the space between my shoulder and neck. “It’s going to be fine, Tamlin. I promise. I’ll get those dresses donated, and that will be it.”

He nods, his head still resting on me. I feel my shirt becoming damp. He’s crying. I’m not sure if I am more angry at that, or sympathetic.

“What’s going on, Tamlin?” I say it softly, gently, forgiving.

He slumps into his leather office chair. “I’m just under a lot of pressure. It will pass, I promise. I don’t like Rhys. But I’ll try to do better.”

I nod. “I need to get to the store. Are you going to be alright?”

He clasps my hand in his, his eyes wide. “I’ll be fine, Feyre. I know you will be too. As long as I know that you love me, everything will be fine.”

I pull my hand away. “Of course.” I begin to walk away when he calls my name.

“Mor is trouble, Feyre. The things I’ve heard about her, they aren’t good. You might want to stay away.”

The air leave my lungs in a whoosh. I haven’t heard anything about her, but knowing Tamlin’s concern for his reputation, I can hardly argue. “I’ll get the charity work taken care of, and that’s it. Don’t worry.” He can’t find anything at fault with me trying to do something kind for others. Especially not if it reflects well on him.

“Alright. I love you, Feyre.”

I lift my hand and wave as I leave.

*********

Later that night, I’m in bed. I’ve been trying to sleep for a couple of hours. I can’t check the time, or else I’ll know exactly how long I’ve been tossing and turning, and that will only make me angry.

Tamlin took me out to a lovely, romantic dinner. We had a table in a secluded corner of my favorite restaurant. Not one where everyone goes for the opportunity to be seen in the right place as much as the food, but my favorite place. He hadn’t bought me a dress, expecting me to surprise him. And he presented me with a beautiful pink diamond pendant while we were eating dessert.

If one were giving out points, he would have won based on technical score. Unfortunately, my fear that Rhys would come up might have affected my mood. We did a nice job of dancing around the subject, I’ll have to say. But in its place was the wedding, and Ianthe.

Life is impossible, at the moment. I can either do what Tamlin wants, or I can do what will help my family. And helping my family just happens to mean working with Rhys. I haven’t even considered what it will mean to keep working with Mor. Elain would surely want part of a charity project. It’s the sort of thing that her day would revolve around.

In fact, perhaps I should introduce Mor and Elain now. They might get along…

But it doesn’t even matter! Not when Tamlin is determined to hate almost everyone I try to associate with. I don’t understand why he takes it as a personal affront to him, but I can’t risk upsetting him so often. Not when he’s under the amount of pressure he has to deal with.

My phone buzzes. I sigh, roll over, and check it.

_How did things go with Mor?_

I knew it would be Rhys. Somehow, in my worst moments, he’s there. Either I’m reaching out to him, or he is to me.

_They went great._

_That’s it?_

_Tamlin showed up._

I know I don’t need to say anything else. A small sob escapes me, as if typing those words made this whole day more real. As if I might need to deal with it, by even hinting at it to someone else.

_And? How did that go? I don’t think Mor likes him much._

I let out a breath of air that passes for a laugh. It’s all I have the energy for now.

_You’re not wrong_.

I’m not sure how much more I want to tell Rhys. It feels like I’m doing something wrong, confiding in him when I know how much he and Tamlin dislike one another. But I’m also not sure if there is anyone else who would understand. Elain’s eternal optimism likes to pretend that problems aren’t as bad as they seem, and Nesta would ask me what I expected, with a guy like Tamlin.

It’s not that they don’t want to support me. They just don’t know how.

There are no little dots indicating that Rhys is writing me back, so I know he’s waiting for more of an explanation. I roll the words around in my head for a minute before I put them on the screen, trying to make sure I don’t reveal too much, while wanting to give everything.

_He doesn’t want me to work with you, but won’t give me an alternative. I’m trying to be ok. I’m trying to be fine._

Rhys’s reply puts me at ease immediately.

_I’ve always hated that word. Fine. It doesn’t really mean anything._

I consider my response again, taking a minute to type it out.

_You’re right. But if I’m not fine, I don’t know what I am._

I look for the dots to show that he is typing, but fall asleep waiting for his response.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mor comes to help Feyre auction the clothes Tamlin has given her. Feyre is trying on her wedding dress with Ianthe when she learns that the sale of her building has gone through.

It’s been a few days, and I still haven’t responded to Rhys.

I was tired, I tell myself. Just because he seemed like someone to listen, to understand, doesn’t mean I should take advantage. Especially not if it would put everything I have with Tamlin at risk.

When I checked my phone the next morning, Rhys had written. I don’t know how long he’d taken to consider and craft what he said. But it struck something deep inside of me, and I’m still not quite ready to admit how he had gone right to the truth of things.

I’ve unlocked my screen, read and reread that message, and still, I don’t know what to say. I’m fairly certain that I’ve gone past the point of ‘normal’, and will now just be a weirdo if I respond. There is also a good chance that he hates me, which wouldn’t be good for the bookstore. So at some point, I need to speak to him again.

It’s just that Tired and Emotional Feyre doesn’t always have the best judgement. And so Sober, Awake Feyre doesn’t know quite how to handle the revelations that might have been shared in the middle of the night.

Tamlin and I have been working on wedding plans. Ianthe comes over nearly every day, and I can hardly blame her. The wedding is in 5 weeks, which means everything is in overdrive. Apparently, a wedding like ours would normally happen much later, have more fanfare and time for gift-giving and honeymoon planning. But Tamlin insisted that we’ve waited long enough.

When I ask Tamlin what he and Ianthe mean by “a wedding like this”, they exchange small, furtive glances, Ianthe biting her lip and Tamlin clearing his throat and patting my hand. Poor Feyre, they seem to say, who grew up in the suburbs, who has no idea what it means to belong to the upper echelons of society.

If I had the energy to do so, after working at the bookstore six days a week and trying to dodge Tamlin and Rhys and my family, I might be able to respond in a way that would make sure they never, ever looked at me like that again.

Or at each other in that way, for that matter. Ianthe is far too comfortable with my fiancé, but I know that Tamlin won’t listen to any of my protests. Not when she’s the best in the city.

Well, the best according to them.

Mor is coming to see me today, or rather my closet. Since she suggested starting a foundation for kids rather than just donating to an existing one, my mind has been running rampant. I hadn’t ever considered such a thing. Then again, I also hadn’t thought I’d be able to keep the store open, not really.

Rhysand’s appearance in my life seems to have had wide-reaching consequences, and I’m not sure yet if it’s for the better or worse.

Tamlin is going to be out of the apartment today, and I’ve asked the cook to leave out some cheese and bread to offer Mor. It’s a bit early, just past noon, but I’ve had the staff also light the fire and bring a few bottles of wine out for us to enjoy. Potentially.

The doorman lets Mor up to the apartment, having been forewarned to expect her. When she exits the elevator and steps into my foyer, she manages to bring in life and energy, despite the chill that clings to her coat.

“Feyre! Your place is beautiful!” She wraps me in an embrace as if we haven’t seen in other in months.

“Thanks.” I step back. “I can show you around, if you’d like?” It still feels odd doing that, since this was Tamlin’s place. In some ways, I still think of it as such.

“All I need to see is your closet. But not until I’ve taken in this view.” Mor walks to the wall of glass that makes up one side of the living room. It overlooks the city, and I’ve spent more than a few hours watching the lights, wondering about the lives of people who live behind that glass that separates us.

Mor sighs happily. “I love living here. Don’t you?” She turns to me, and I know she doesn’t mean the apartment, but Velaris. The high-rises and the energy aren’t what I’m used to, but I’ve grown accustomed.

Instead of saying that, I nod. “This apartment is great. Apparently Tamlin’s great-grandparents bought it and if we were to let it go, all sorts of criminal activity might ensue, committed by people trying to get it.”

Mor smiles, indulgent. I don’t want her to think that I’m some country girl, unused to living in a city. I’ve been here for a few years, after all.

She doesn’t make such an insinuation. “Actually,” she says, “I think I would like to see around the place. Just for fun.” She offers her arm, like I were her escort at her coming out ball. I take it, glad to feel, for just a moment, as if I am knowledgeable and belong here.

I show Mor the living room, Tamlin’s study, the guest rooms, our bedroom, and finally the room that looks like a battle between an art studio and a nursery. One hardly needs guess which one of us, me or Tamlin, wants it to be one or the other. I’d like to think I’m winning, but I rarely do, when it comes to him.

Diplomatically, Mor avoids asking the obvious questions, the ones that I hate. The ones that concern themselves with numbers - how many children, how many years will you wait, etc. - And I wonder how much experience she has at avoiding the same sorts of inquiries.

“I have wine and cheese,” I say at the end of the tour. I turn to Mor, ready to play the hostess.

She grabs my hands in her own. “Wine, yes. Cheese, maybe later. Plus,” she says, reaching into her large purse, “I brought a bottle. Remember? We just need a corkscrew.”

I grin. “Come on, let’s get some glasses and open that bad boy.” I lead her to the kitchen, and spend more than a few minutes rifling through drawers and cabinets trying to find the corkscrew. I finally find it, it being not a corkscrew but a large contraption that looks as if it takes engineers to work, but actually makes the opening of the bottle quick work.

It takes both of us to figure out which parts go where, but eventually we figure it out, giggling as if we are already a bit drunk. The satisfying pop of the cork sets me at ease. I manage to find some glasses in a cabinet I’ve seen Tamlin go into, and pour us glasses that would put restaurant servings to shame.

“Alright, back to the bedroom. You’ve heard a bit about what I’m looking at getting rid of, right?” I look back at Mor as she follows me down the hallway.

“Yep, Rhys told me about some of them. Things he’s seen you wear.”

She talks absent-mindedly, but I can already tell she’s not that dumb. Mor knows exactly what effect it has on me, to know that Rhys has been paying attention to me far longer than I’ve even known who he was.

“Well,” I say, “here it is.” I push open the door to my walk-in closet, and sit on the settee that sits in the center. It’s a large walk-in, nearly as big as my bedroom at my dad’s apartment. Everything is brightly lit and well-organized and arranged so thoughtfully. I never would have done something like this, would never have thought of it. If the closet were truly mine, I would have mixed summer and winter pieces, shoes might have been strewn across the floor instead of set up on racks.

“Which ones are you auctioning off?”

I make a sweeping gesture. “Everything on that side.” I’ve indicated a full two-thirds of my closet, and Mor conceals her surprise. Clever woman.

I watch as Mor runs her hands over the fabrics, periodically taking notes. My legs are crossed, my foot bouncing with nervous energy as she works. My glass of wine empties far too soon, and Mor’s is practically untouched, sitting on top of a dresser as she works.

“So,” I say after a while, “what do you think? Enough to feed a small country? Or at least an army, tell me I can afford that.”

Mor waits to respond, looking at the final pieces I want to get rid of.

She shuts her notebook and turns to me. “More than that, I’d say. If we get the prices I want, then you could start a foundation. You only need to start it, you know, and then look for donors to keep it running. Rhys knows quite a few people who might be willing to lend a hand.”

“No,” I say, a bit too quickly. “It’s just that I’d like to do this on my own. Or, well, without his help.” I finish the dregs of my glass.

“Alright. But you know that you might have to ask one of them for help.”

“One of them?” I’m puzzled, but then it dawns on me, before Mor even speaks.

“Rhys or Tamlin. They know all the old society ladies, you realize, people who take things like this to put in museums or save for decades in their closets to hand down to their daughters as ‘vintage’. Not that you couldn’t do the same, you know.

I shake my head. “No, I won’t be doing that.”

Mor could ask my why, could press me to explain exactly how many children and vacation homes and social events and bank accounts and all of that, but she doesn’t.

I feel a weight lifted, and I laugh. “Let’s get some more wine, shall we?”

It’s not that I don’t want that sort of family. It’s just that, right now, having that with Tamlin seems unfathomable. Every day with him is challenge enough, without throwing children into the mix.

I spend the rest of the afternoon with Mor, polishing off the three bottles of wine that the staff have left out for us. I remember giggling at one point about the fact that I have staff, that I am going to be auctioning my excess belongings, when mere months ago I was eating cheap, pre-packaged food, unsure of how I would make the rent. Trying to believe my father as he said, every day, that he would make things right.

Mor, to her credit, listens without judgement. Her eyes glimmer in amusement on occasion, but more often than not I get the feeling that she is managing to hold back where I have not.

She doesn’t leave until Tamlin comes home from work. He has a veneer of civility, and if I were in public he might berate my drunkenness. As it is, Mor leaves with promises to let me know what we can plan on acquiring, and where we might look to start a non-profit.

*****

I’ve let all of it go, all of the meetings with Rhys, the texts, since Tamlin asked. He hasn’t gone so far as to check my phone, but I feel like he might ask any day now. So everything I do is to ensure that he never, ever has a reason to doubt me.

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen Rhys, and it’s all for the best, I’m sure. Mor has set me up with Christie’s, which I hadn’t realized would deal with someone like me. But apparently, I’m not just me anymore. I’m attached to Tamlin, associated with Rhys, and I come with armloads of expensive gowns for sale. Even if they wouldn’t normally give me a second glance, they have little choice now.

The plans have been made, and the auction has been set for a week from now. I don’t have to attend, just wait to see what happens. Between them, Mor and Tamlin will tell me what I need to do afterwards.

Today, I have a wedding dress fitting, and the only person who could make it is Ianthe. Tamlin isn’t supposed to see me in the dress, of course, and Nesta and Elain are too busy. Or rather, Nesta doesn’t want to come and Elain likely forgot. It’s alright, though. I’d rather not have anyone see me in this longer than necessary.

The thing is, I’m sure Nesta would give me loads of shit about the volumes of tulle and silk and lace, and even if I’d want to disagree with her on principle, that being one of the activities we enjoy the most when in each other’s company, I can’t say I could argue with her.

I hold my arms up as the seamstress pins and tucks and clicks her tongue and makes comments about how I should avoid cheese and bread and alcohol for the next couple of weeks. Basically, everything that makes life good.

I murmur something that sounds like agreement, holding my phone up as she works. I’m scrolling through my social media, though I’ve tried to block all mentions of my own wedding. Apparently it’s quite an event, which I hadn’t realized. The eternal bachelor, Tamlin Outil, finally taking a wife. It all sounds really fucking old-fashioned, and I’m tempted to check my calendar for the year I’m living in.

Ianthe is walking around me in circles, giving directions to the seamstress without consulting me, but I can hardly find it in myself to care. I love Tamlin, I know that I do, but sometimes it seems that there are requirements for living in his world that I’m not quite sure I’m up to.

The curtain that separates the front of the store from this back dressing area parts, and the high-pitched salesgirl who sits at the front desk is shrieking about protocol and how people aren’t allowed in the back unless given permission beforehand.

I look away from my phone for a moment and see Rhys walking in. I look around frantically for something to cover myself with, and then am reminded that it’s not as if I’m naked. I’m dressed, just in one of the most ridiculous wedding dresses to ever grace the face of Earth.

“Feyre,” Rhys says, pleased, until his eyes alight on Ianthe. “Get out.” His command is clearly directed to her and the seamstress. The woman nervously gathers her pins and measuring tapes, murmuring instructions to me to not take the dress off without her assistance.

Ianthe is a bit slower in leaving. She has been crouched and stands, finding her feet with the smoothness of a snake. She smiles as if she has found prey, but I know her to be wrong.

“Rhysand,” she says. “How nice of you to join us, though unexpected.”

He turns to her, his voice more forceful. “Get. Out.”

Ianthe turns to me, trying to save face. “I’ll be in the next room if you need me.” She throws a look at Rhys. “I don’t expect I’ll be waiting long.”

As soon as she has left the room, Rhys’s face shows relief. But then he finally looks at me, truly sees what I’m wearing, and a smirk comes over his face.

“What is that?”

I gather the skirts in my hands and step off the pedestal I’ve been placed on. It makes a swishing noise as I move, and I wonder if it’s possible for me to be any more conspicuous while wearing this thing. “It’s my wedding dress, I’ll have you know. It’s quite expensive.”

I don’t really know how else to explain why the dress is worth all the frills and details, other than they are costing Tamlin a lot of money.

“Well, I can tell that. No one will accuse Tam of skimping on his bride’s gown.” Rhys reaches up to fondle a laced edge of my skirt. “You’re practically a confection. And might I say, Feyre, you look absolutely delicious.”

Rhys smirks and I want to slap it off his face.

Instead, I step back, pulling the fabric from his hand. “Why are you here?” I look around. How could he have known I’d be here? I suppose he might have his ways.

“I wanted to deliver some good news.” He clasps his hands behind his back.

“What’s that?” I’m looking at myself in the mirrors that surround me, trying to act preoccupied. All I can think about is the last message he sent me.

_Feyre, if you aren’t fine, you can tell me. You don’t have to tell me, in fact. Tell Tamlin, or Mor, or your sisters. Don’t use that word as a cover for not getting what you want. Or what you need. And if you ever require anything from me, please don’t hesitate to ask._

Rhys pulls a folded stack of papers from behind his back. “The deal has gone through. I’ve bought your building.” He offers the stack to me.

I drop the folds of fabric I’ve been inspecting and take the papers from him. They’ve been folded into thirds and I open them, but I can hardly read it while Rhys is present, with all the technical jargon they contain.

“Thank you,” I say. It’s so woefully inadequate that I feel like a complete idiot, an ingrate.

“There’s more,” Rhys says. He nods to the papers in my hands. “Look at the last page there.”

I flip the page and see my name. I look up at Rhys. “Why is my name part of this? What does this mean?”

Rhys shrugs. “I own the building, but I want you to be in charge of it. All of the major decisions will be yours, so you’ll never have to wonder if someone else is going to kick you out, or force you to change your lease.”

My hands drop to my sides, and Rhys catches the papers before they fall.

“Why?

“Do I need a reason?” Rhys asks. “Ok, I suppose I do. I think you’re capable of such decisions. I’m far too busy to keep an eye on every investment I make. And I think that you could use some control in your life.”

I walk forward and hug Rhys. He stiffens underneath my embrace at first, unsure of how to proceed. When I refuse to let him go, he wraps his arms around me. When I pull away our cheeks meet, just for a moment, and we exchange shy smiles.

“So that furniture store next door?” I ask.

“They were leaving either way. You didn’t have anything to do with it. So if you want to take on the lease, it’s completely up to you. There are no middlemen to go through, no negotiations, no hassles.”

Rhys adjusts the lapels of his coat after I release him, as if straightening his clothing will cause him to become detached from his decisions.

“Thank you, Rhys.”

He loses his composure for just a moment, but regains it so quickly that I doubt anyone else would have noticed. “You’re welcome, Feyre. But I want to be sure that you understand that I trust you, whatever decisions you make. This is in your hands.”

I nod, smiling. “I can handle that.” I look down at the layers of fabric that cover me. That claim me as belonging to Tamlin. “Would you like to come to the wedding?” I’m a bit more hopeful than the circumstances would permit, given that I already know his answer.

Rhys shakes his head gently. “No, Feyre. Thank you for the offer. But I think that both of us know I wouldn’t be welcome.”

“Alright. It’s coming up in a couple of weeks though. So… I might be busy. I’m sorry I didn’t write you back, before.”

“I understand. Shall you call Ianthe back in?”

I sigh. Technically, Rhys and I have nothing more to discuss. He has handed me my bookstore, and not only that, but the ability to ensure that there are no other threats to its existence. “Alright. But Rhys?”

He turns, the heavy curtain at the entrance to the changing room in his hand. “Yes, Feyre?”

“Thank you.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The feylin wedding - or is it?

I haven’t told Tamlin about the building basically belonging to me. It’s hard enough wrapping my head around the fact that I’m going to be married tomorrow. I can barely comprehend the idea that I’m getting married before either of my sisters, that I no longer have to worry about how I’m going to fill the refrigerator each week.

And now what, I’m supposed to tell my fiancé that the guy he detests has done more for me and my independence than Tamlin ever has? Well, Tam hates a lot of people. So that part might be beside the point.

But I own a freaking high-rise building.

Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit. I know. Rhys has made me the manager of the building, which is all well and good and gives me control of exactly what I want to do with my store, but there will be a lot more to it than that. Things like leases and regulations and I can’t even begin to imagine what else. And that’s on top of trying to manage the store. I might need to hire more staff, if I can afford it.

I’ve considered giving Elain or Nesta some more say in what happens here in the store, if they’d want it. Or perhaps Nesta could help with managing the building, with her law degree. I think I’ll expand into the space next door, which will take months of planning.

All these details are enough to make me want to take a long, deep drink of something full of alcohol.

But all of that is beside the point, because I haven’t had time to deal with anything other than the wedding, and even the noise of appointments and parties and random social gatherings is crowding out any thoughts of what I actually want.

Apparently, or at least according to Tamlin and Ianthe, none of those gatherings are optional. He tried to tell me that they come with gifts, as if he couldn’t buy the same shit himself. I think it’s more likely that people just want to kiss his ass, but I suppose that’s the way it works.

I’m in the bookstore now, staring at my mother’s hideous orange chair. I told Tamlin and Ianthe that I needed to go in and make sure that Elain hasn’t burned the place down in my absence. I know she’s done fine, so it was an excuse. I just needed some time to breathe.

The only sound in the store is my fingers strumming on the countertop. Even the spring rains have given us a brief respite, so I can’t count on that to distract me from what’s going on in my head.

I don’t know what I need to think about, but I feel useless standing here doing nothing. Even if I know that’s why I’m here. But what can I possibly worry about when it comes to the wedding, since Ianthe has proven herself so adept? I suppose she’s worth whatever ridiculous fee Tamlin is paying. Even if I’ve seen her brush her fingertips on his arm and tilt her head just so, she knows her customers are off-limits. Doesn’t she?

And a small part of me is still suspicious of Rhys, why he’s being so helpful. We’ve barely known each other a few months, but he’s handed me everything I need, though not as a gift. I’m constantly caught between wanting Rhys to be upfront and tell me what he wants, and not wanting to ruin a good thing.

Mor’s friendship has become irreplaceable. If I can take away one positive thing from meeting Rhys, it’s that. Even if he has dubious motives that may have more to do with pissing Tamlin off than having my best interests at heart, at least he introduced me to Mor.

I tried to talk to Dad about all of this but he made some murmuring noises, fingers laced over his stomach, nodding as if he has the answers. But every time I ask him a direct question, he answers me with more questions. What do you think, Feyre, and Well, I suppose that’s a problem, how might you solve that, Feyre?

I can count on one hand the number of people I can rely on to tell me the truth, to help me out. It’s been that way for a long time, but something about it rankles me more than usual. Perhaps because I see the possibility now, in Rhys, in Mor, and I’m not sure if I should reach out and pull them closer.

When the bell over the door rings, I sit up straight, put on a bright face. Luckily it’s a customer, and I’m busy for nearly half an hour helping a man pick out the perfect anniversary present for his husband. It makes my heart ache, how much care he puts into the purchase. He knows what he wants; something that will have sentimental value, that they can share with one another, that is also worth more than the cheap best-seller paperbacks that people take to the beach and don’t care if they trash.

A copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets from the mid-19th century has put him back a pretty penny, but ensures that my store can pay its rent this month.

I’m so excited by the purchase that I grab my phone. I flick immediately to Rhys’s number.

_You’ll never guess what just happened._

_What’s that, Feyre?_

As usual, he responds almost immediately.

_Someone bought a book of sonnets, a very expensive one. It was wonderful._

_I’m glad for you. Are you trying to tell me not to worry about your rent this month?_

_I’d hardly do something so crass._

I tease, but a part of me is slightly hurt that he thinks I’d contact him for business, not because he is someone I wanted to share the news with. But now I’m questioning that decision myself, and that won’t go anywhere good.

 _You’re right,_ he writes _. Sorry. Can I buy you a drink to apologize properly?_

_I’m getting married tomorrow._

_Ok. Why are you telling me that?_

I pause, my fingers tapping the screen as I think.

_Because it probably wouldn’t be appropriate. And you and Tamlin aren’t exactly friends._

_You’re right. I’ll see you after the wedding. And congratulations again, Feyre._

I turn my screen off, my mood slightly dampened. I should be happy. Hell, I should be ecstatic. Those are the kinds of sales that make the store, and I’m getting _married_ tomorrow. Tamlin is supposed to come meet me on his way home from work, so I decide that busying myself with dusting or another mindless activity is the best course of action. I leave my phone behind the counter, far away from my traitorous fingers that might try to text Rhys back.

By the time Tamlin shows up, the light has begun to fade, later in the day this time of year. He gives me a kiss on the cheek and I tell him immediately about the sale. He’s heard stories like this a dozen times over, knows exactly how important they are.

He barely acknowledges me before trying to hurry me out the door. “Feyre, dearest. Are you ready for the rehearsal dinner?”

I nod. “Yeah, let me just grab my coat.” I turn to grab it from where I have it hanging behind the counter, and a stack of papers falls out.

Tamlin leans over the counter and frowns at them. “What’s that? Looks important.”

“It’s nothing,” I answer. “A surprise. I’ll show you tomorrow. Who all is coming tonight?” The dinner will be small, I’m sure. Most of Tamlin’s family is gone, and my dad is rarely well enough to leave the house. He’ll come to the wedding, at least.

Elain will be there, as will Nesta. I’ll have to make sure that she and Tam don’t sit too close to one another, or blood will likely be drawn.

“Lucien, of course. But other than him and your family, that’s it.”

“Can I invite someone else?”

Tamlin looks surprised. I can’t blame him, it’s not like I have many friends. “Who?”

“Mor.” I’m walking a fine line here, but I’d like to feel that there is one more person on my side tonight. Though why there are sides, I decide not to ask myself.

Tamlin lets a puff of air out through his nose. It’s the sound he makes when he’s about to give me my way, but he’s not happy about it.

“I suppose so. But not the other, right?”

“Ha! No, not the other.” I know he means Rhysand. It’s ridiculous, but I let it go for now. This is, after all, an incredibly intimate gathering. I take my phone out of my pocket and shoot Mor a quick text, inviting her to come along, promising wine and good company. Well, mostly good company. I’m not sure how anyone is going to get along tonight.

*********

We are the last to arrive at the rehearsal dinner. We made reservations and Tamlin called to add one to the table, but even if this is the sort of restaurant where one has to make reservations six months in advance, no one would dare refuse Tam.

I take stock of the seating arrangement. On one side of the table there is my father, Nesta, and Elain, while the other side has Lucien and Mor. At least Lucien and Mor are chatting amicably, though my dad seems to be a bit lost in the conversation. Battle lines have clearly been drawn, and I wish we’d gotten there sooner for me to redirect everyone to mingle a bit more.

Tamlin sits at the head of the table and I sit at his right, next to Mor. Elain is across from her, on Tamlin’s other side. Tamlin makes sure that everyone has the proper introductions, though I’m sure they did that before we arrived. Dinner passes as one could expect, people from one walk of life learning how the other side lives.

At one point I am alone, everyone else in conversation with others. Mor and Elain are chatting across the table, Tamlin is trying to talk over them with Lucien, and Nesta and Dad are becoming masters at diplomatic mutual avoidance. And here I am, wishing I had someone else to talk to.

So many toasts are given that I lose track. Elain becomes teary-eyed and has to have Nesta finish her speech, which Nesta delivers deadpan. Lucien expresses his gratitude for Tamlin having taken him in, and Mor makes inappropriate jokes about the wedding night that have Elain blushing.

I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something. Mor notices, and gently pulls me aside after dessert.

She reaches up and rubs my arm. “Are you doing ok, Fey?”

I nod, biting my lip. “It’s just a lot, you know? It’s a big decision.”

“What decision?” she asks. She should look puzzled, but she’s not. “You’ve already decided to marry him, right?”

“Oh yeah, right. I meant it’s a big change.” It’s a shitty cover-up, but she lets it go.

“Do you want to go get a drink? Just the two of us?”

I shake my head. “No. Thank you Mor, for coming. It really does mean a lot, and I’m sorry I couldn’t be more… enthusiastic.”

Mor takes me into her arms and I feel warmer. She lets me rest my head on her shoulder, despite not embracing her in return.

“Don’t apologize. Never apologize for how you feel, even if you feel like you aren’t supposed to feel that way.”

I can feel myself beginning to cry, so I pull away. I knock Mor on the shoulder gently. “Hey, thanks. And I saw the way you were looking at my sister, by the way. She’s single."

“What?” For the first time since I’ve met her, Mor looks caught off-guard. “Elain is great, I haven’t met anyone like her in a long time. It’s no big deal though, you let me know if it makes you uncomfortable.”

I grin. “I didn’t say which sister I was referring to.”

“Bitch!” Mor exclaims, but she’s laughing. And suddenly, I remember why I invited her here tonight.

Tamlin comes up behind me with my coat, resting it on my shoulders. “I think we should get out of here, don’t you love?” He places a kiss on my cheek.

Mor takes the suggestion for what it is. “I should be getting home as well. We all have somewhere to be tomorrow morning! Feyre, see you then?” She grasps my shoulders and leans forward, placing a kiss on each cheek. “Call if you need anything.”

Everyone else slowly makes their excuses. Tamlin pays the bill after a brief exchange with my father where it is made clear that he can’t afford to. Neither of us are surprised. Dad leaves ahead of us, a rushed congratulations his parting words.

When we walk out into the night, the city air is cool on my face, the buildings lit up. In some of them, I can see the people who live within. I wonder if they are happy.

Tamlin wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me in close. We are passing a woman I see on the street frequently, and I pause, beginning to rummage around in my purse. I find a ten-dollar bill and greet her by name.

“Feyre!” she exclaims. “How are you doing?” She pockets the money I have given her.

“I’m doing well.” I smile and return to Tamlin, putting my arm in his. “Getting married soon.”

The woman is wearing layers of unnecessary clothing, more than likely because she has nowhere to store them, having no home. She has put her hair back in a French braid to keep it from her face, and just as likely to hide how dirty it is.

I know that in another universe, our places could easily be switched. It might not have even taken a different universe; I was months away from finding myself in this position, had I not met Tamlin. And now Rhys. And it had nothing to do with how hard I was working, how much I wanted to be able to feed and house my family.

She congratulates me and then waves goodbye. I nod, letting her get back to her business.

When we are far enough away, Tamlin pulls his arm from mine. “Feyre, what was that?” His face is dark, troubled.

I assume he is worried for my safety.

“Oh, I’ve seen her around, we’ve talked. Don’t worry, she’s ok, she won’t hurt me or anything.” I move to keep walking, but Tamlin holds me back.

“Don’t you think she’s taking advantage of you? Why doesn’t she get a job?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that those people, they’ll do anything to get out of contributing to society.

“I’m sorry, are you saying that by giving this woman $10, I’m somehow contributing to her failing to be gainfully employed and making tens of thousands of dollars a year? You really think that’s what’s stopping her? Hope that Feyre Archeron will pass by and open up her wallet once in a while?” I shake my head in disbelief and I can feel my hands shaking in fury.

“What’s more, I’ll have you know, is that she is from my hometown. She worked in a textile factory, until it and all the others went out of business. That could have been me, Tamlin. It was shit luck that landed her on the street, luck and people like you who refuse to see beyond their poor-fitting clothes and shoddy haircuts.”

I walk away in disgust and Tamlin lets me, walking a few paces behind for the next several blocks.

“Feyre, wait.” Tamlin reaches out for me, and I take a step back, giving in. “Stay with me tonight. Come home.”

He tries to give me a hug, but I refuse. I know if I let him, if I fall into that familiar pattern of letting him make love to me instead of showing me with words and actions that he is sorry, I’ll be lost. I’ll forgive him, yet again.

“No. It’s bad luck, anyway. I’m staying with my dad tonight, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Feyre, I love you.”

“I know,” I say, and I hate the sadness that has crept into that statement. “I love you, too.”

When I get inside I find blankets from a hall closet and throw them on the couch, desperate to fall asleep quickly. But once I’m settled into the cushions, I pull out my phone.

_How did you know what bridal shop I’d be at the other day?_

I swear Rhys must be waiting all day for me to text him. He responds quickly, as usual.

_As big as the city is, Feyre, we may as well live in a small town. People talk. They’re betting on what kind of wedding dress you’ll wear, you know._

_Seriously?_

_Seriously. I had to promise Mor I wouldn’t spill a word under pain of death. That or I’d be cut off from ever accompanying her to Paris Fashion Week again, which is a sight to see, let me tell you. I wouldn’t dare leave her to that herself._

I stifle a giggle, then realize it doesn’t matter if anyone hears me. Dad is fast asleep, and of course Tamlin is back at his - our - apartment.

I decide, though, that now is as good a time as any to get some more answers from Rhys.

_Earlier, why did you congratulate me?_

Rhys takes a few minutes to respond. I suppose it is late.

_For the sale of your dear sonnets. And more importantly, your wedding._

I chew on my lip for a minute, type out a message, and close my eyes and hit “send”.

_You don’t mean that. You don’t think I should marry him, do you?_

Leave the intonation to him to figure out. I might have put the emphasis on the “do”, in which case I’m asking for advice. Or I may have put the emphasis on the “you”, in which case I’m entirely too dependent on what Rhys thinks and wants.

_I think that only you can answer that question, Feyre. Now get your beauty sleep._

I plug my phone in and try not to toss and turn too much before falling asleep.

*********

I’m on another pedestal, this one in a side room of the botanical gardens.

Ianthe and the seamstress are once again circling, fluffing and pining and tucking and clicking their tongues with comments about how I’m such a naughty girl for liking cheese so much.

I would shrug, but they would probably yell at me for that, too.

I am less than an hour from my wedding. I haven’t seen Tamlin since last night, and Elain is sitting in the corner of the room with bright, watery eyes, clutching a handkerchief. She has made sure to bring plenty for everyone, though I’m fairly certain she’s the only one who will need them.

When I get to the threshold that separates me from the outdoors, the aisle where I will find Tamlin, Ianthe hands me my bouquet. I’m too busy trying to remember how to breathe in this tight fabric to look down, but when I do, my heart stops. Everything nearly crumbles, and I want to throw the bunch of red roses on the ground.

I look to Ianthe. “Why?” I’m not sure if I’m more hurt or angry.

“What’s that, dear?” She finishes adjusting the train of my dress and steps around to step in front of me.

“I told you I didn’t want these. My mother. She left, and these were her favorite. I told you.” Now I know. My voice is shaking with anger.

“Oh, dear, I must have forgotten.” She clicks her tongue. “Well, there’s nothing to do about it now. Unless you walk down the aisle without a bouquet, and we can’t have that!” She laughs, looking around the room for support. Instead, she meets Elain’s gaze, and she looks pissed off. Well, as pissed as Elain could possibly look.

Elain turns to me. “Feyre, we are literally in the middle of the botanical gardens. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll have something better for you.”

“Yes,” I say, “do that.” I hand her the red roses. “And please, throw these away.”

Elain grabs them, throwing Ianthe the same look a fierce kitten might dare give a tiger, and stomps off, emphatically dumping the roses in the trash as she leaves.

“Tell everyone they will have to wait a few more minutes while my sister makes other arrangements.” I laugh. “Arrangements.” I look at Ianthe, whose face has become pinched. “Arrangements? Floral arrangements? Fine.”

I sigh, but already feel a bit like someone else has my back in all of this. At least enough that I have turned into a babbling idiot who makes jokes that fall flat because hello, I’m not really that kind of person.

I shift from foot to foot until Elain rushes back in the room, clutching purple hellebores and ranunculus. She has found a ribbon to tie them together with, no doubt through charming some hapless stranger, and I give her a quick hug in thanks.

“Are you ready?” Ianthe smiles at me again, as if all is well.

“Yes.” I turn towards the entrance, from which I can see the rows of white chairs, the arch under which Tamlin stands. My father offered to walk me down the aisle, but I know he couldn’t, given his knee.

Elain walks ahead of me, arm in arm with Lucien. Dad, Nesta, and Mor are seated on my side of the aisle, though it is woefully empty in comparison to Tamlin’s side.

I’m fairly certain that my heart is going to beat out of my chest, and I honestly don’t think it’s anticipation anymore, but fear.

The wedding march begins to play once Elain and Lucien have made it to the end of the aisle, and I’m supposed to walk. I’m supposed to go forward. My legs should rise and fall and my feet should propel me towards the man I love. But they feel like lead.

I turn to ask Ianthe if she has weighted down my silk stockings, but realize how ridiculous that would sound. After all, I was perfectly capable of walking a moment ago. And how would she have done that, anyway? Some special type of stretchy thread? I would laugh, if I could get the sound out. Besides, I’m fairly certain my body is no longer in my control.

Ianthe is smiling gently at me. Everyone is watching me as I take one step, then another.

Tamlin’s features become clear as I make progress. He is smiling at me. Everyone keeps fucking smiling at me.

My feet, while no longer lead, are definitely not wanting to cooperate. I wish, just for once, just this one day, my dad could have been here to hold me up, keep me steady, instead of sitting there at the end of that aisle, watching me do all of this by myself.

I tear my eyes away from Tamlin and look at Nesta. She is frowning, and I think maybe she will save me. But no, she wouldn’t know what I’d want. We aren’t close enough. Elain still has a sheen of hopeful tears in her eyes. But Mor. Mor is looking down into her lap, typing something into her phone. Texting. Well, I suppose weddings are boring.

Laughing right now would be so incredibly inappropriate.

I make it halfway down the aisle when I slow. It’s not that I remember things that Tamlin has said to me. No, it’s the absence, the silence. The way he dismisses my wishes, ignores the happy events in my life if they don’t directly affect him. The disapproval, the judgement, the way I, too, become silent in his presence. I’m trying to remember the good moments, but I can’t. The roaring silence fills my head.

Everyone is so brightly-colored. They are blinding. It takes me a moment to gain my bearings again, between all the pink and yellow and pastel blue and floral prints. I think I hear Tamlin saying my name, and I try to focus on him.

I’m staring so hard at Tamlin, at that target I can’t approach, that I don’t notice the murmurs from the crowd until I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I look to my left, where a man clad in black has become my anchor. His outfit is hardly appropriate for a spring society wedding in the botanical gardens, and I mentally chastise myself as I realize that’s something Ianthe would care about.

It takes me a moment to place him. Rhys.

“Hello, Feyre darling.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the wedding that wasn't.

I’m in a car, tall buildings whizzing by. The sky has turned cloudy. I don’t know when that happened. My forehead is pressed against the window of the passenger side, and it’s cold against my skin. My hands are limp in my lap, unsure of what to do with themselves. The seat is leather, warm, comfortable, deep. I could fall asleep in it.

When I look down, I see that ridiculous wedding dress. It’s on me, I realize, but it doesn’t feel as if it’s a part of me. But why should it be? I left my wedding, left Tamlin. And I left with Rhys.

Rhys isn’t speaking much next to me. He has some soft jazz playing on the radio, and I have to admit that it’s doing its job of soothing me.

He had opened the car door for me, made sure that the layers and yards of fabric were securely inside before shutting it. Told me where we were going. I remember him saying the words, but I don’t remember what they were.

“Rhys?”

He looks over at me, just for a moment, not wanting to take his eyes off the road. We are leaving the city behind, and I no longer see concrete and metal buildings obstructing my view. Instead, I can see the turquoise ocean that the city is nestled against. On the other side and all around are mountains. I don’t go there very often. Not when Tamlin and my family and my business are so nearby.

The ocean has taken on a troubled, stormy cast. It’s just the clouds, I tell myself. The clouds that continue to approach.

“Just rest for now, Feyre. Think, if you need to. We’ll be there in an hour or so.”

I’m not sure where ‘there’ is, but I don’t think I care. I nod, and turn back to the window.

I wonder what time it is, but if I know, then I’ll think about what I should be doing right now. Things like attending my wedding reception, cutting the enormous, five-tiered cake, having my first dance with my new husband. Those events fail to take on any significance if I don’t know that they should be happening right now. Instead, my mind wanders to what everyone else is doing. Cleaning up the decorations, wondering what went wrong, what they could have done to prevent it. No one will be in as celebratory a mood as they might have been.

Well, there might be one exception. Ianthe will still get paid, either way. What does she care? And from the way she looked at Tamlin, she might even be pleased.

My toes curl in anger as I think about the first bouquet that she handed me.

Elain will be crying, supported by Nesta. Dad will shake his head, say that he hadn’t seen it coming, as if he were paying attention in the first place.

Tamlin, though. I hate to think about the scene I left behind me. And I hate to think about the orders he’ll give Lucien. To come find me, demands about why he hadn’t warned Tamlin about this possibility. I couldn’t have warned myself, though.

I’m afraid that everyone will be angry at me, that they’ll hate me. And Tamlin will probably never forgive me.

I hadn’t known that I had so much to lose. And now it might be gone forever.

But a part of me is curious about what lies at the end of this journey in Rhys’s car. I assume it’s his car, at least. I snort, imagining him stealing some stranger’s car, or Mor trying to leave, only to find he has taken hers. Maybe it is hers. I look around, and it’s too clean. No, this wouldn’t be Mor’s car. Definitely Rhys’s.

I realize that the sound of the road beneath the car has changed. In fact, there is a sound now. Before it had been smooth, well-cared for highway that wouldn’t dare make a sound. Now the car is crunching over gravel, and I take better stock of my surroundings.

We are climbing in elevation. That much is apparent from the angle of the car as it works to take us up the hill. No, not the hill. The mountain. I look out of my window, but my view is extremely limited. All I can see is an immediate, steep slope of dirt and trees and rocks and budding plants. I can only see a few feet of landscape because of the angle, I realize. The other slope, the one from which there is a view, must be on Rhys’s side of the car.

When I look out of his window, I’m glad I’m not on that side of the car. Even if we are on the far side of the road from the drop.

The landscape below is so far away, the drop so steep, that if I try to find the bottom, all I can see is the hazy mass of trees that covers the lower elevation of the mountain.

If my side of the car is a macro shot, then Rhys’s side is a panorama. A landscape.

I turn back to my window, content with the smaller picture. For now.

I’d like to will myself to fall asleep, though I can’t say I’m entirely awake. And we might be close to arriving, anyway.

I look over to Rhys’s profile. He has both hands on the steering wheel. His usual black suit has been replaced with black jeans and a black t-shirt, over which he has a cardigan. Leave it to him to still make his casual wear as intense as he is.

We make quite the picture. Me in my pure white wedding dress, formal as can be, the GDP of a small country having gone into the way I appear. And then there’s Rhys, casual, a dark cloud incarnate, though without the threat. To me, at least.

“We’re almost there,” he says, answering the question I haven’t asked. He has caught me looking. I suppose I have been staring rather hard.

When he showed up at my wedding, hand on my shoulder, I was shocked. But then my mind immediately went to Mor, her phone in her lap, typing furiously in the middle of my wedding.

Mor did this. I’m not sure if I’m angry or not. I suppose I can’t be, really. Not when I made the choice to leave. Still, I don’t know if I’ll yell at her or thank her, when I get back.

Back to what, I have no idea.

We pull into a long road, but it doesn’t take long for me to realize that it’s actually a driveway. It is paved, and so moderately more domesticated than the road we’ve come from. Somehow, we are going even higher, at an even steeper incline. I grip the armrest on the door, though at least that steep slope down the mountain is now at my back.

When we finally turn the last corner, I’m stunned to find a castle in the middle of all this wilderness. Or what passes for a modern castle. For the first time since we left, I find myself pressing against the window so that I can see more of what is outside.

Calling this a cabin would be a joke, though its exterior is a mixture of wood and glass. We are pulling into the driveway, and I’m stunned even by that. It could hold a few more cars, and the building that extends from it could hold several of my bookstores.

Rhys turns off the engine and walks around the side of the car, opening my door for me. I’m not sure I would have gotten out, had he not. He offers me his hand and I accept, standing for the first time in what feels like ages. But it hasn’t been. Even if the bright sunlight and flowered garden of this morning feel a million miles away from this cold mountain home.

This time of year, at this elevation, there is still snow everywhere. I’m shocked by the chill but the garage is heated, keeping me from the worst of it.

Rhys closes the car door behind me and then walks to the entrance, waiting for me to follow.

I do, but I frown.

We walk into a mudroom, but quickly pass through. It’s not as if we have been trekking through the wilderness and need to shed ourselves of soiled clothing. We exit that into the kitchen. There is a granite bar that separates the kitchen from a family room, and the lights over it have been left on. The house falls into the shadow of the mountain early in the day, it appears, but someone is watching over this place.

Rhys reaches into the refrigerator. “Do you need anything? Water?”

I nod. He grabs a bottle of beer from the fridge, leaving it on the counter before pouring me a glass of water. I take it from him, greedy.

I look around as I drink, none too gracefully, I might add, as water drips down my chin while my eyes take in the space. The kitchen is nearly the size of my store, beautiful granite everywhere. But what draws my eye are the windows on the opposite end of the family room. I walk over to it without being asked. I guess in normal circumstances I might wait to be shown around, but the sunset is too much.

This side of the house is mostly glass. To take in the view, presumably. It’s the opposite side from where we pulled in in the car, but there isn’t the same terrifying drop from this side of the house. It’s more gradual, but still a landscape worth painting. Pink, purple, orange, and red are splattered across the sky as the sun sets. It’s now that I realize I don’t have my phone. I only remember because it always galls me, the way those photos never capture the scenes the way I want them to.

No, what I want to do is paint this.

Rhys comes up next to me, taking in the view he must have seen a thousand times already. I envy him that.

“What do you want, Feyre?”

The question prods my subconscious in a way I’d rather it not.

Instead of answering, I turn to him. “Why did you come? Why did you show up at my wedding, accost me in the middle of the aisle?”

“Mor told me you didn’t look well. I was already nearby, because of what you’d written me.”

“What I had written?” My mind searches for the words. I can’t check, since I don’t have my phone. I have nothing, in fact, but this dress on my back and the shoes on my feet. I realize that I’m still clutching my bouquet in one hand, and the deep purple flowers have wilted and threaten to stain the fabric of my dress if they stay in contact too long. I toss the bouquet on the counter quickly, as if it could do more harm than that.

“You asked me if I thought you should marry Tamlin,” Rhys says. He hasn’t looked over to me yet, but he does take a drink. “In cases like that, I often find that the answer lies in the asking of the question.”

“What? What does that mean?” I lift my glass to my forehead, press the cool glass against my skin.

“It means, Feyre darling, that having asked that question means you already knew the answer. You just wanted someone else to say it for you.”

I take a step back. “No. How dare you presume to know…” I don’t know what else to say, because I’m afraid that he’s right.

“I don’t presume. The answers are in front of me. You just need to accept them”

“No,” I say, shaking my head, “I want to go back. I need to go back, to tell them…”

“Tell who what, Feyre?”

“It’s none of your business.”

His lips grow thin, but he nods. “Alright. But for tonight, you might want to stay here. I can let your family know that you’re safe, that you’ll return soon, that you didn’t run off to marry me.” His voice takes on bitter tones at the end of his sentence.

“Thank you.”

I look at Rhys, expectant.

He extends a hand to show me the way. “I can show you where the guest rooms are. You can pick whichever one you want. They are all clean and such, and you’ll find clothing to change into. I keep it,” he explains as he walks ahead of me down a long hallway, “for when I have unexpected company. In a remote area like this, it happens more often than you’d think. Tourists.”

Rhys stands at the end of the hall, indicating the four doors on either side of him. “Tourists,” he continues, “don’t really understand how quickly the weather can change up here, and often regret it. Or they would, if they didn’t run into my house. You can take your pick.”

I move to Rhys’s right, choosing rooms that will have a better view of the mountain valley below. Opening the door, I catch Rhys smile at my choice.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Feyre.”

“Good night, Rhys.”

*********

The next day, the bright morning sun wakes me. I look at the clock by the bed and realize that it’s earlier than I would normally be up. I tell myself it’s the sun, though I suspect that my incessant tossing and turning from the night before had something to do with it.

The sun and moon do strange things, here in the mountains. They play with time. And they have played with mine long enough.

I sit up, sniffing the air. I smell bacon, meaning someone else is already up. I throw my bedding to the side, finding that I’ve changed into soft cotton pajamas. I’ve also locked my bedroom door, but I’m sure Rhys wouldn’t be upset at me for that.

I make my way down the hallway slowly. Smelling bacon is nice and all, but I don’t know who is cooking it. As I get closer, I hear two voices: Rhys, and Mor.

“So, it went well then?” Mor asks.

“As well as might be expected. Mor, she left her fiancé, you can’t expect…” Rhys trails off when he hears me coming down the hall. Apparently, I’m no good at sneaking as I thought, and so I finish my trek.

“Good morning!” Mor exclaims with a bit too much energy, given how early it is and what happened yesterday. She’s probably worried that I’m pissed at her. Which part of me is. But I also can’t ignore that she knows me better after just a few months than my sisters have managed after my entire life.

“Good morning.” I look to both of them, crossing my arms over my chest. There is a fire roaring in the family room, just to the left of the floor-to-ceiling windows. I want to sit by it, but first I’d like some coffee.

Mor hops off the barstool she was sitting on. “Coffee? I didn’t make it, don’t worry. The only chef here is Monsieur Rhysand.” Without waiting for my answer, Mor grabs two mugs, fills them, and pours a copious amount of cream and sugar into both. Handing me one of them, she indicates the exact seats by the fire I had been eyeing.

“So,” she begins once we are settled, “how are you?”

“Mor…” Rhys’s voice comes from the kitchen, warning.

Mor throws up the bird at Rhys and continues. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Ok,” I say. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Ok,” Mor answers. She is nodding though it more reflective than an acknowledgement of what I’ve said. “I was engaged once, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Mor’s eyes have gone distant, and even though she is facing the valley outside the windows, she’s not looking at it. She wraps her hands around her mug, and her face is more solemn than I’ve ever seen it. “It’s a long story, for another time. But if you need anything, you let me know, ok?”

Mor pats my leg and I take the permission to say nothing with relief.

Time passes, in which sounds come from the kitchen, and I memorize the view before me. Rhys tells Mor and me that breakfast is ready, and for the first time in months, I allow myself to eat a full meal.

Rhys and Mor chat, both of them casting me furtive glances, but I stay out of the conversation for the most part. Sometimes I feel it necessary to smile or give them a small _hm_ , but they allow me to pretend I’m not there.

We all know that I have decisions to make. And that no one can make them for me.

When we are done eating, Rhys suggests that Mor take me back to town. I nod in excitement at the suggestion, as much as it makes my stomach twist in anticipation of what I will say to Tamlin. And my sisters. And my father.

Before I leave, I find Rhys alone in the kitchen, washing dishes.

“Rhys?”

“Yes, Feyre?”

“Thanks.”

“Right place, right time.”

“No.” I walk to the door leading to the mudroom, and then the garage, and pause. “I was surrounded by people who knew I wasn’t happy, and were going to let me go through with it anyway. Or at least I’d like to think they knew I was unhappy.” I shrug. “I’m not sure. But you were the only person to act. So thanks.”

Rhys turns off the tap and gives me a nod of acknowledgement.

I know that I need to get back home. Wherever that is. I know that I need to talk to Tamlin. After all of this, I still love him. And a part of me wonders if that’s enough anymore.

I have a difficult decision to make, and I’m reminded of when Mor caught me out, asking me if I hadn’t already made it. Knowing I hadn’t.

I let the door close behind me with the understanding that Rhys and I are not done with one another.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre finally sees Tamlin after their interrupted wedding.

I asked Mor to take me to my store before I go to Tamlin’s apartment. I know that it will be difficult, but I need to get my things. I need to talk to him. And I need to leave.

The wedding dress is still at Rhys’s mountain home. I wonder what he’ll do with it. I really couldn’t care less. I may still love Tamlin - a part of me might always - but I have no interest in being the person that he and Ianthe were asking me to be. And a life with Tamlin, all I see is a constant struggle between his wants, and my needs.

I open the door to the shop, the bell ringing, and know Elain will have on that perky face she was born with because the expectation - the hope - is that I will be a customer. Instead, I’m surprised to see Nesta behind the counter, flipping through an architecture magazine. Our eyes meet and she sets it down.

“Feyre, how are you?”

I have to admit that I’m surprised by the question. No accusations, no guilt-trips, no asking what I did wrong.

“I’m ok. I guess. Where is Elain?”

Nesta hops off the stool behind the counter. “She couldn’t come in. She was too worried about you and she’s been all over town, trying to find anyone who might know where Rhys would have taken you. She wanted to call Mor, but didn’t know her number. I told her I was sure you’d give it to her, once you turned up.”

So, Nesta noticed their discussion the night of the rehearsal dinner as well.

“Rhys didn’t take me anywhere. I left with him. And I was fine, I spent the night with him and Mor. But I’ll be sure to give Elain her number anyway.”

Nesta tilts her head at me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“With you?” I try to keep the incredulity out of my voice, but it doesn’t go so well. It’s just a bit weird when your sister, who understands you about as well as Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy understand one another for 90% of _Pride and Prejudice_ , tries to get you to open up.

“Only if you want. I might not know what to say. In fact, I know I’ll have no idea what to tell you. Elain would be better at that sort of thing. You know, if you want unbridled optimism.”

We both smile.

“But,” Nesta continues, “I am a good listener. In case you forgot.”

The problem is, I have forgotten. I can’t remember the last time I had a talk with Nesta, just the two of us, about anything personal. And it’s a shame, really.

“Are you going to move in with that Rhys guy now?”

“Nesta! I thought you said you would _listen_.”

She shrugs. “Just asking. Proceed. Tell me things. Let’s act like sisters.”

I walk up to the counter and tap my fingertips on its edge. “Well, no. I’m going to move back in with Dad, I think. I need time to figure out what I’m doing. Tamlin hasn’t been himself the last few months. And I think meeting Rhys made it worse.”

“Bullshit,” Nesta scoffed. “It woke something up in Tamlin, that’s all. It was always there.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head, “You don’t know him as well as I do. He’s just under a lot of pressure at work, his company is always keeping him busy and he is worried about making deadlines and budgets and has to travel all the time. And I haven’t made it any better, trying to hold on to the store and letting Rhys help me out.”

“You mean letting Rhys help out when Tamlin refused to?” Nesta asks.

“Well, yeah. But it’s not like that.” Or is it? “Tamlin has ideas about what he wants in a partner.”

“And you don’t fit that. So don’t make yourself.” Nesta has a way of being blunt that others misinterpret as being rude. I have taken her that way many times myself, and after a lifetime of it… it’s easy to see why we haven’t been as close as other siblings.

“I won’t,” I say firmly. “I’m not going to. That’s why I’ll move back in with Dad. Then we’ll see what Tamlin has to say. If he can compromise.”

“I doubt it, Fey.”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

She shrugs. “Don’t need to. I remember what it was like before, with Tomas.” Her mouth narrows, her lips becoming thin. “They say one thing, and do another. Always watch what they do, Feyre.”

I want to argue with Nesta - it’s practically second-nature, with the two of us - but a part of me knows she’s right. I just really, really haven’t wanted to admit it, because that means that my love, the way I would sacrifice everything for him, would do just that. Take everything from me, just to leave him intact.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t around more. When you were going through that with Tomas.”

She nods. “It’s not ok, but I understand. I had Elain, at least.”

I feel a lump in my stomach, a pit where my guilt enjoys burrowing in and eating me alive.

“I don’t think that Tamlin is going to give you what you need, Feyre. If it takes time for you to figure that out, I’ll be around. And I’m sure,” she adds, “Rhys will be too.”

If Nesta were closer I’d give her a smack on the arm. Instead, I say, “Shut up, Ness.”

“Sometimes, Fey, you say things that remind me of the fact that you are the youngest sister.”

I stick my tongue out at her. “Can you keep watching the store? You know how to use the register and everything?”

“Sure. But what are these things all around the store with all the words in them? I might have forgotten what they’re called.”

“Bye, Nesta,” I yell as I walk out the door.

With each errand run, I’m a step closer to having to confront Tamlin. And I’m definitely in need of coffee before that happens, so I head next door.

Tamlin isn’t the type to leave well enough alone, to let things happen in good time, and so as soon as I stop in the cafe, Lucien is behind me in line.

“Feyre.”

I turn and step out of line. “Hi, Lucien.” I’m not surprised to run into him. I just wish it didn’t have to be like this.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, it’s been ten seconds, so that’s all I’ve had time to say.” I hate that Tamlin does this to Lucien, forces him to play the go-between with everyone. It means that, no matter how much I want to be his friend, I know that Lucien is Tamlin’s first. And so I don’t know how far I can trust him.

“How are you?” He looks me over, checking for who knows what.

“I’m ok. Not great, but no one would be.”

“True,” he admits. “What did Rhys do with you, after you left?”

“Do with me? Like I’m a piece of luggage or something?”

“Fey,” Lucien says, his voice lowering, “It’s just that he has something of a reputation, messing around with people like Amarantha, who knows who else. I don’t want to see you involved with someone like that. Neither does Tamlin.”

I step back as if I’ve been slapped. “Amarantha?”

“Oh yeah, everyone knows about it. They like to set up opportunities and knock them down together. They’ve been quite the menace, since she moved into town.”

My head is spinning. I might need a glass of wine before I have my coffee. “I need to go.”

I turn to leave without my coffee, but Lucien grabs my arm. I recoil, pulling away so hard that I elbow a man passing behind me. I apologize, offer to pay for the coffee I spilled, but the man waves me off.

“Fey, are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah. I just need to go home.”

*****

I stand outside of Tamlin’s apartment building for thirty minutes before I go upstairs. It’s cold in the shadow of the building, but I can’t make myself enter. I’m sure Lucien has told him I am back in town, so really, I’m amazed that he wasn’t waiting outside the entrance himself.

I’d like to think it’s self-control, but he’s probably trying to teach me some sort of lesson.

My head is spinning with everything that has happened in the last 48 hours. The roses in the bouquet, leaving with Rhys, anticipation about how Tamlin will react to seeing me. And now this news about Rhys and Amarantha. It should be the furthest thing from my mind but it keep showing up, like a song that’s been stuck in my head. A song that I hate.

That revelation should be a nuisance at best. I push it down, deep inside, and deal with the mess I have before me at present.

I finally enter, nodding at the doorman before I walk to the elevators. When the doors open up into Tamlin’s living room, I’m surprised to see it is empty. I walk inside, calling out Tamlin’s name. He strolls down the hallway that leads to the bedrooms, a highball in hand. It’s still early, and I wonder when he started drinking. Or if he stopped.

Something breaks in him and he sets the glass down, practically running up to me.

“Feyre, you’re alright. I was so worried, so worried about what he had done to you. What has he been saying to you?” Tamlin’s questions come out in a deluge and he grasps my hands, lifts my arms, spins me around as if Rhys took me from my wedding to assault me.

“Tam, I’m fine, I promise.” I pull him into a hug and he resists at first, before slumping nearly all of his weight on me. When he lets me go, he grabs my hands in his own and kisses them fervently. I try not to pull away.

“Are you sure?” Tamlin asks, “When he showed up I was so angry, I had no idea how he even knew where we were.”

“Everyone knew, Tamlin. Remember, it was a huge deal. You and Ianthe wanted to make the wedding huge. No one living in the city could avoid knowing.”

“And then you left with him. Why?” There are a few Tamlins that I am familiar with. Right now, he is Emotional and Needy Tamlin. The one who needs me to reassure him that everything is fine. Most of all, I am not allowed to show any hint of unhappiness or distress when this Tamlin is around.

But I can’t be that Feyre for him anymore, no matter which Tamlin I am presented with.

“Tamlin, listen to me. I needed time. The wedding, it wasn’t what I wanted. You and Ianthe were making all of these choices, and with that woman on the street, and you telling me who I can and can’t see, I just… started realizing some things. But I’m fine.”

A darkness comes over his face, and he steps back. “So that’s what this is about? Some homeless woman on the street? What if I make a donation, Fey? Will that help? And you can’t blame me for wanting to keep you safe. Rhysand is not the person you think he is, Feyre.”

“It’s not about a woman on the street, Tam. It’s about more than that.” I lift my hands, shrug uselessly. No matter how I explain it, he won’t understand. He’ll twist it and take things out of context and make everything about how he feels. But I have to try.

“And the woman on the street, it just shows how different we are. Giving a bunch of money to a charity while wearing a thousand-dollar suit and being congratulated by important people is not the same as looking someone in the eye and helping them, Tam. And the store, you’ve never understood how important it is to me. As far as Rhys, who he sleeps with is none of my business.” I flinch and look down. “As long as he’s willing to help me keep the store, that’s all I care about.”

As I speak, his expression becomes stony. It is nearly fixed in disapproval by the time I’m done.

“Where did you stay last night?”

“It’s doesn’t matter. I just needed to get away.”

“Where did you stay, Feyre?”

I know he won’t let this go, and I sigh. “I stayed with Mor. And Rhys. At his family place in the mountains.”

Tamlin clenches his hands in a fist and looks down. He seems to be holding himself back, which would be admirable, if I weren’t waiting for him to fail and take his anger out on me. If it didn’t cause me to want to break every resolution I made before walking in here.

“Your clothes are gone.” It’s an accusation, tinged with pain.

“Tamlin, do you mean the clothes that Mor was going to send to auction for me?”

“Oh.” Tamlin blinks. “I thought you were gone for good. I thought it was over. Why did you leave, Feyre? Why?”

“Tamlin, I need space. I can’t be myself around you. You ask me to give up things that I care about, you don’t support me, you decide that you are allowed to tell me who I can and can’t see, and I can’t live like that.”

Tamlin turns and walks away. He paces up and down the hall, gesturing as if he’s having a conversation with me, but he’s not saying anything out loud.

“Tam? I just need some time.”

“Time.” He laughs, and it sounds horrible. “No.”

“It’s not up to you.” I walk to the bedroom to get some things from my closet, and he bars my way, one arm stretched across the hallway to block my path. “Tamlin, move."

“Feyre, don’t do this. I don’t think I’ll be able to live without you. I don’t-“

“Tamlin?” A feminine voice has come from the bedroom. Sleepy. The voice of a woman who has just woken up from a dream.

All the color leeches from Tam’s face, and I can feel it leave mine.

“Feyre, I can explain.”

I push Tamlin’s arm and he lets it fall. I walk into our bedroom, where mere days ago I had fallen asleep in his arms, thinking about our wedding. I won’t pretend it was perfect, but it doesn’t excuse what I know I’ll see when I walk through the door.

Ianthe is in our bed, sitting up, wrapped up in a sheet and clearly naked. “Feyre.” She blinks and smiles lazily. “This is most unfortunate. But, well, you did walk out, didn’t you?”

I turn and walk out of the bedroom. I don’t need my things. Fuck my clothes. I can buy new ones. At least I’ll have the designer clothing to auction. I’ll find whichever charity will rankle Tamlin the most, and be very, very vocal in my donations.

Tamlin is calling my name. He’s right behind me, but he sounds as if he’s miles away. I feel a tugging on my clothes and realize that it’s him, trying to hold me back. I can hear Ianthe say something to him, and he stops. Lets me walk away.

Well, for now. I’m sure I’ll hear from him again, but I decide to call a friend for today. While I’m in the elevator I text Mor, asking if she wants to meet me for an early afternoon drink. She responds in the affirmative. Then, I text Dad, letting him know I’m moving back in to my old room.

I walk out onto the street, allow the sun to shine full on my face before putting on my sunglasses, and smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I wanted to say thank you so much for all of your comments on this fanfic! It is already in my top five fic in terms of hits, and I barely started it a couple of months ago, so I really, really appreciate it! Especially since I began writing this as a way to make myself feel better during a really shit time that is... not so much shit anymore. But I'm still invested because feysand is such a comforting ship for me.
> 
> So yeah, tl;dr is that I really appreciate all of you, and I don't get to respond to all the comments but I do read and cherish every single one. <3333333


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre adjusts to being single, and Rhys makes her another offer.

I’ve decided it’s not worth the trouble to check my phone. I almost left it at home today, but I might hear from Mor, or my sisters. It’s under the counter, just beneath the register, but I’m not looking at it every few minutes like I might normally. I just check occasionally for messages sent by people I actually want to hear from.

I can’t even check social media. Everyone is either having the time of their lives, or worried about me. Well, they’re pretending to be. The number of messages I’ve received from people I barely talk to is ridiculous. It’s funny, seeing how others react to your own personal tragedy. If that’s what I can call this.

Somehow, news has leaked about Ianthe leaving Tamlin’s apartment right after I did. It didn’t take long for the tabloids to put two and two together, and now they are trying to paint me as either a horrible goblin for leaving Tamlin at the altar, or a wronged woman.

I can’t say that either characterization is incorrect.

I need to google how to block a phone number though. Tamlin just won’t let up. And really, I don’t need any help remembering the way that he let me down. I should have smelled Ianthe all over him the minute I walked into the apartment. At least that way, I wouldn’t have had to see her lips curl into a smile that was equal parts victory and pleasure.

One part of me is angry that I let it happen, telling myself that I must have driven Tamlin to sleep with her. After all, I’m the one who left him at the altar. I could have pulled him aside, told Rhys to leave, had a talk with Tamlin about how I was feeling stifled, tried, again, to get him to understand how I felt. I could have done a million things differently these past few weeks, all to prevent him feeling like he was being abandoned, to keep him from seeking out comfort in Ianthe’s arms.

But another part of me is so angry that I feel like I’ll never be rid of the feeling. If he loved me, Tamlin never would have tried to control me the way he did. If he loved me, he would have listened to me, respected what I had to say. Let me contribute, wanted to make our wedding day as much about what I wanted as what was expected of him. And there is no reason, absolutely none, that would make it okay for him to have invited Ianthe into his bed, even after what I did.

I know that I tried to fix things. And yet a part of me will never forgive myself for not trying harder to make it better.

I hate that part of myself.

Tamlin’s messages started with Feyre, call me, and devolved into desperate pleas and statements about how he will change, he’ll do better, he didn’t know where I was and so what did I expect. There was even some insinuation that he was victimized by Ianthe, but if I know Tamlin at all, he was trying to get back at me. The messages that imply that I am at fault are my favorite. I know it’s bullshit, even though I’m telling myself the same thing. It’s just easier to be angry when that message comes from him, rather than my internal dialogue.

Thank goodness I have my read receipts off again. I checked the first few dozen messages, but then ignored them after that, and Tamlin has no way of knowing that. I know we aren’t done, not really. I need to tell Tamlin what he has done to me, how I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to forgive him, even though I want to, desperately.

Maybe I won’t tell him that last part.

I’ve thrown myself into managing the store, while Nesta and Elain have proven to be very useful in helping out, once they learned how to take direction from me. It was a struggle, at first. After all, Elain isn’t used to seeing the store as anything other than a big playground in which she can find whatever it is she wants to read about. And Nesta has had a hard time stepping into it since Mom died.

I’m trying to think about expansion, managing the building. I talked with the owners of the furniture store about when they are planning on closing, getting info about their square footage. I’ve thought about doing inventory of the current space, even though I could tell you in my sleep where to find that used copy of _Ulysses_ and whether we carry books on the various flora of the Pacific Northwest.

It’s something I never considered before, change being a positive thing. I’m trying to let it consume me.

And yet all that is really on my mind is the fact that I’ll be sleeping alone, an expanse in the bed next to me where I used to see the man I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with.

There is a hole in my life. Not just in the bed, not just in the parts of my day that would have been spent with Tamlin. It’s also in my future, in the fact that I don’t need to check in with him, the way I no longer have to worry about him finding out who I’ve been speaking with.

It’s supposed to be liberating, but all I can feel is a sense of loss.

I moved my things back into Dad’s apartment, or rather, I had them moved back in. There was no way I was going back into Tamlin’s apartment.

Mor, Nesta, and Elain all pitched in. I don’t want to say that I exploited Mor’s interest in Elain to get her to help, but… well if it worked out well for everyone, then what does it matter? They really are cute together, when they think no one is looking. Mor is practically the picture of confidence in normal circumstances, but around Elain she becomes nearly shy. I wish I had more energy to devote to pushing the two of them together.

My phone screen lights up again and I roll my eyes, but then get a bit excited when I see that it’s not from Tamlin. Instead, it’s from Rhys.

_Feyre, hey. How are you doing?_

I haven’t spoken with Rhys since Mor drove me home from his place. I haven’t told him what happened with Tamlin. In fact, I haven’t talked to anyone about it, even though they’ve all heard the rumors. I don’t know if I can get my mouth to form the words. Hell, even typing them out in a text would probably cause a fresh round of tears. The image of Ianthe in Tamlin’s bed has been permanently imprinted into my subconscious, and I don’t appreciate the world trying to remind me of it.

_I’m ok, considering. You?_

_Worried about you. Can I see you?_

The bell over the door rings, and I set my phone behind the counter. I’m not sure what Rhys could want. It’s not as if we’re friends.

Then again, none of my friends or family stood up for me at that wedding, read the signs that I was drowning.

I greet the customer who comes in, but it’s pretty clear from the outset that they are a Hardcore Browser. By that I mean they don’t know what they want, but they are confident they will find it. I leave them to it, and return to my phone.

 _Sure_. I should write more than that. _When are you available?_

_Actually, I’m next door. At the café. Can I come over?_

I should have known Rhys wouldn’t just randomly text me like that. That he’d have a plan. I wonder how much he and Amarantha have been planning, behind my back, about me and the store. I haven’t forgotten what Lucien told me about them. I just can’t really deal with that, on top of everything else.

_Ok._

Hey, at least he respected my privacy enough to ask before coming over. He could have used any excuse - in the neighborhood, need to buy a book, I own the building - but he checked with me first. It’s a bit endearing, if I’m honest.

The bell over the door rings again, and I look to it in anticipation. It’s not Rhys, but another customer. It’s an embarrassment of riches really, though all I want is for them to leave so I can have this discussion with Rhys in private. The Hardcore Browser finally makes her way to the register, no less than a half dozen books stacked in her arms. I’m busy checking her out when the newest customer comes up to the counter, asking me questions as if I’m not already occupied.

I’m trying to answer his questions while ringing up the first customer when Rhys comes in. We exchange a glance, and he taps the new customer on the arm gently, offering to show him what he’s looking for. I’m freed to help the first customer, the second customer checks out, and the store becomes silent again.

Rhys comes back up to the counter once the second customer has finished buying what he came for.

“Hi,” I say. Like a dumbass. There is an ocean of words just after that _hi_ that I don’t know if I can say, and so greeting Rhys is the best I can do.

“Hello, Feyre.”

Rhys isn’t wearing his usual black coat; the weather has warmed up enough for him to not need it, and I can see tattoos peaking out from the edge of his shirtsleeves. I nod to them.

“I like your tattoos.”

Rhys rubs his arms, looking down at the tattoos. Tattoos that cover nicely muscled biceps, I might add. “I got these a long time ago.”

“What do they mean?”

“Nice try, Feyre.”

I’m confused. “What do you mean?”

“I came here to check on you. Not discuss me. So? How have you been?”

I shrug and walk around to the other side of the counter until I am in front of Rhys. “I’ve been better.” I clear my throat, well aware that if I start talking now, I might not be able to stop.

“I can imagine. I heard you crying, you know.”

“When?” Again, I’m confused. I really don’t like that Rhys can do this to me. He seems to know more about me than anyone else, though I hardly see him. And it throws me off, every time, to realize how much he is paying attention to me.

“When you were at my place. After you went to bed.”

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

“I don’t mean to pry, or embarrass you,” Rhys continues, “It’s just that I know it was hard for you. But I also think it was brave.”

“Running away was brave?” I bite the tip of my tongue to keep tears from falling. They are always a moment away from returning, these days.

“It wasn’t running,” Rhys responds. “You were doing what you needed to do. For yourself.”

“No one else agrees with you. But I appreciate you saying it.” I turn to the counter, pretending to organize brochures and flyers that I keep there. One stack offers art classes for youths who have nowhere safe to go after school, another informs battered women of a number they can call for shelter, legal aid, counseling. I never look at people if they take them from the counter. It’s hard enough, I think, admitting they need help. I don’t need to watch them reach for it.

“Feyre.” Rhys places his hand on my arm and I freeze. “How are you, really?”

“I don’t know. Really.” I shake my head, refusing to look him in the face. “Have you ever thought you had something, and then found out it was a lie?” I finally look up at Rhys, and he is calm. Reassuring.

“Yes. Believe it or not, Feyre, I understand. I had a friend once, who turned out to be something quite different.”

“Who?”

Again, Rhys deflects attention from himself. “We’re talking about you. I can tell you my own stories later. But I know that you’ll find someone you can trust and work with and share your life with, Feyre.”

“Is that what you have with Amarantha?”

Rhys steps back. “Excuse me?”

I turn back to the brochures, shuffling them into useless piles. “I just heard that you have a different relationship than I thought. I guess I assumed that you buying this building for me, or making me the manager or whatever, it meant that you were trying to keep her from… whatever it is she normally does with stores like this. But I guess not."

“Who told you that?”

I shift again, looking at Rhys, leaning on the counter. “Is it true?”

“No. Not in the way you think.”

I wait for more of an explanation, but it seems I won’t get one. I rub my temples, check the time. Nesta should show up any minute now to take over for me, and I don’t want to face her questions about Rhys.

“So, you’ve seen that I’m ok.”

Rhys raises an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

“Yes, I do.” I’m tired, I’m sad, and I’m done with trying to explain myself to Rhys. And yet he isn’t walking away.

I hesitate, then speak. “Rhys, do you think I did the right thing?”

“You know I do.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t want some ‘congratulations, you are an independent woman’. I want your honest opinion.”

“In that case, Feyre, I think you’re the only person who can answer that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says, pausing, shifting on his feet. His arms flex, his tattoos drawing my attention until I look back up into his violet eyes. “It doesn’t actually matter what I say, does it? All that matters is your own conviction in what you’ve done. If you have faith in yourself, your own choices, that’s a thousand times more important than what some random guy thinks. Even if he does have your best interests in mind.” He winks at me.

It makes some sort of sense, though. Because the fact is, I don’t hear the noise from outside. All it does is reinforce or contradict what I think of myself. If the part of me who thinks I’ve made a mistake is louder in the moment, then my critics are right. But if I find myself in a moment where I know that I’ve made the right choice, I realize that they don’t matter.

“Thanks, Rhys.” I’m not sure what else to say that wouldn’t sound ridiculous.

“Hey, what I think doesn’t matter either. Right?"

“Right.” My fingers are suddenly itching to grab my phone, to release some sort of public statement about how ‘fine’ I really am.

“Well, I’m leaving in a minute. Nesta is taking over.” Everything I say to Rhys sounds inadequate, after what he has done for me. “So I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Sure. I’ll text you.”

Rhys turns to leave but stops himself. The bell over the door rings again. It’s another customer, and I want to run to them, ask them what they need help with, anything to keep from this need to stall Rhys, keep him in my store.

“Feyre, I had another reason to come here today.”

I would have brushed him off, gone to check on my customer, but I’m curious. “What’s that?”

“You can use my mountain house, if you want. I know that this city, it can be small. Especially the circles you have found yourself a part of.” That’s an understatement. “So if you need to get away, you can go there. I won’t be there, not if you don’t want.”

I wish Rhys didn’t look so damn sincere all the time. It would make it much easier to assume that he is trying to pull one over on me, take advantage of me just like every other relationship I’ve had.

“That’s nice of you. It is a nice place. Maybe in a few weeks?” ‘Nice’ is one of the worst words in the English language.

Rhys nods. “Of course. Just let me know. Can I see your phone?”

“Sure.” I hand it to him after I unlock it, and watch him type.

He hands it back to me. “This is the address, and the security code, and the code to get into the garage. You’re welcome anytime. Just let me know and I’ll have Nuala and Cerridwen meet you there, make sure you are taken care of.”

I grip my phone in my hand. I wonder if my wedding dress is still in that house.

“Ok. I’ll let you know if I decide to go. I’m pretty busy now, though.”

“Of course.” Rhys smiles. I wish he wouldn’t, mostly because of the feeling he causes in my chest, one that competes with the hollow space Tamlin created.

Rhys leaves the store and I try to busy myself with the newest customer, one who has very specific requests. Normally, I would be annoyed by their demands, but now they provide me with a reason to not think about the events of the past week.

Nesta comes in a few minutes early, relieving me of my need to watch after the store. I had planned on spending the rest of the afternoon unpacking boxes to settle back into my room at my dad’s house, but instead I wander the city streets for a while. It’s supposed to clear my mind, but the solitude isn’t what I expected. It just reminds me of what I would have been doing, if Tamlin were still a part of my life.

Instead of texting Tamlin, asking what we should have for dinner tonight, I walk back home alone. I stop by a store, buying what I feel like eating. As I walk down the aisles, I notice Tamlin’s favorite foods, the ones I could never buy because he was allergic, the cheeses he wouldn’t let me keep in the house because of how they smell. I load my basket with all of those things, trying to keep myself from sobbing as I do so.

Freedom is only as liberating as I allow it to be. It doesn’t matter if I can eat what I want, wear what I want, if doing so only reminds me of what I’ve lost.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, select my conversation with Rhys. I look at the last words we typed to each other, consider adding to it, asking him if he can come over. But I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.

It’s easier talking to a near-stranger sometimes, but I can’t help but feel guilty in doing so. Yet it seems as if he is the only person who will let me feel how I want to feel in this situation.

Before I get a chance to message Rhys, I get a notification from Mor.

_Feyre, call me. I have good news about your auction!_


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre deals with Tamlin one last time before meeting some new friends.

My phone is gripped in my hand so tightly that my palm is sweating and it might slip out anyway, crashing to the concrete of the sidewalk below. I think of the cracked screen, the slivers of glass piercing my skin, and don’t care.

Tamlin asked to see me, and I only agreed after Mor said she would come along with me. She’ll stay away until I make the signal we decided on - me putting on my jacket but staying seated at the table. Then she’ll just happen by the café, surprised to see me, though she’s been waiting outside across the street the whole time.

I can’t help but think of all the conversations this café has been privy to over the last few months. I wonder if the baristas have been making bets about me. It’s more likely that no one has noticed and fewer have cared, but it’s hard not to feel like a spectacle, a specimen in some experiment to see just how far a person can be pushed until they just give up for good.

I met with Mor yesterday, where she told me that I not only made enough to start my own foundation if I choose, but she had come away with a few contacts who might be interested in partnering and investing their time and social cache into making it successful. We are meeting with those investors next week, but for now, it’s nice to know that Tamlin’s efforts at dressing me up like a doll will go to a more worthy cause.

I’m pacing in front of the café when Tamlin finally shows up. He leans in to hug me, but I back away. He has the gall to look hurt. I’m not sure what is confusing about the idea that I might not want him to touch me.

To save face, Tamlin reaches for the door handle, ushering me inside.

We go through the motions, ordering, finding a table, waiting for our drinks, without a word. I’m so nervous I think I might throw up. But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? I was willing to spend the rest of my life with this man, and so somewhere deep inside, I’m afraid of hurting him, of letting him down.

“Feyre.” Tamlin finally speaks. He reaches his hand across the table, expecting me to place my hands in his. I keep my hands in my lap. He sighs.

“What did you want to talk about?” I ask.

“I wanted to see how you are. You need to come home.”

I tilt my head. “Home? Where is that?”

Tamlin’s brows furrow, he looks hurt, confused. “With me, in our apartment.”

“In the bed where you fucked Ianthe?”

I didn’t really mean to come out with it so soon, but there it is. You can hardly blame me, since the image has been burned into my mind every bit as much as the red roses of the bouquet Ianthe had made for me. I would look into that, see if she had more of a hand in the destruction of my relationship than I initially realized, but I actually don’t care.

Tamlin’s mouth becomes pinched, a sure sign that he is holding back. But I know by now that he is only holding back to reserve strength for a bigger blow-up later on. Restraint has always been a power play with him. As if I should be so grateful that he is just _so patient_ with me.

I look outside, across the street, and see Mor’s blonde head angled towards us. My jacket stays across the back of my chair.

“Feyre, please, don’t talk like that.”

“Like what? I’m just saying what you won’t. You slept with our wedding planner.”

“After you left me at the altar.”

I blanch. I don’t need anyone to tell me that; I can feel the blood drain from my face. “I know. And I’m sorry. I wish I could have talked to you before, but Tamlin, you don’t understand. I tried.” I rack my brain, trying to think of all the times when I spoke up. Had I tried hard enough? Had I said enough? I’m not sure if I allowed myself to be strong enough to make things work with Tamlin. Perhaps I could have been more patient.

And then I realize. It doesn’t matter what I did or didn’t say. Tamlin was in no place to listen. Not with pressures from work, his family, his own past.

I straighten in my chair.

“When? When did you try to tell me?” Tamlin looks genuinely confused.

I try to keep myself from rolling my eyes. “All the times I told you what I wanted from our wedding, and you ignored me. Or all the times I told you how important the store is to me, and you brushed it off. Or perhaps all the times I told you I didn’t want to wear what you picked out for me, but you insisted.”

“But what do all those things matter, Feyre? In comparison to this?” He reaches across the table again, pulling my hands away from the warmth of my cup of coffee. My fingers are pressed into awkward angles, and I wrench myself free.

“That’s just it, Tam. They meant a lot to me. And you should have realized that. This relationship isn’t - wasn’t - just about what you want. What you need.”

“OK.” Tamlin nods, more to himself. He’s thinking about what I’ve said, I’ll give him that. “So, will you come home with me? Let’s fix this.”

There is a light in Tamlin’s eyes. He still has hope. I don’t know how.

“No.”

The light in his eyes goes out. “That’s all you have to say? Feyre, after everything I did for you, how could you? We can be even. I kicked Ianthe out of the house as soon as you left. I slept with her, you stayed with Rhys, we can just be even, call it good, if you’ll just come back home with me.”

I blink. I’d like to think that I imagined Tamlin calling his infidelity equal to me staying with a friend, as if betrayal could be measured and catalogued and the hurt would disappear if only we could say that we experienced an equal amount. But still, I find myself being convinced that if I just try harder, then I’ll forget what it was like to be dismissed, to find Ianthe in our apartment.

“No. I need space from you, to think about where I’m at. I’m sorry Tam, but that’s the way it has to be. Please, just respect that.”

“Why, so you can whore yourself out to Rhys to save your ridiculous bookstore?”

So quickly, he turns. If I might have had trouble walking away when we first saw one another outside the café this morning, now I have no difficulty. I reach behind my chair and put on my jacket. A horn honks outside and I know Mor is on her way, probably pissing off drivers as she dashes across the street.

I stand, and Tamlin follows suit. “Wait, Feyre, please, you know I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes you did. You meant every word.” I try to button my jacket, but my fingers are trembling. I don’t know why I’m trying; it’s warm outside, the afternoon sun finally eliminating the chill from even the shadows. I just need to not look at him, not see the earnestness in his blue eyes. He will still refuse to acknowledge the damage he has done; I know that before looking up, and I don’t think I can take it.

“Feyre!” Mor’s chipper voice comes from the entrance, and Tamlin turns to scowl at her. “Imagine meeting you here.”

“Yes,” Tamlin says, “Imagine, the two of you meeting here, next door to her store, just in time.”

Ignoring Tamlin, Mor leans over and pulls me into a hug. She rests just a moment, enough time to feel me press against her in reassurance. I think she’s waiting for me to speak, but the way I cling to her communicates everything. Tears threaten, but that would hardly help our charade, for what it’s worth.

“Feyre.” Mor grips my elbow. “You can come with me. Now.”

I finally look away from Tamlin, realize I never really was alone with him.

“OK. Let’s go.” I grab my purse from the back of my chair. “Bye, Tamlin.” I pause, trying to figure out what else I should say. But there is nothing worth saying. Nothing he hasn’t heard me say a dozen times before.

Tamlin leans forward, says my name, but a look from Mor has him falling back. I make a soft sound, something like a laugh that comes more from my nose than my throat or chest. It’s as much as I can manage, and it might not be kind now, to laugh.

Mor and I leave the café. We have only traveled a few feet, but it feels miles away from Tamlin.

Lucien is waiting on the sidewalk outside the café, and he steps in our path.

“Feyre, wait. You don’t know what Tamlin has been through, since you left. He feels horrible. Do you know what Rhys does? Tamlin told me that Amarantha wanted to sell your building to someone else at first. Do you think she just gave up? Rhys is a bastard, through and through.”

I shrink away, try to cling to the memory of Rhys driving me into the mountains, letting me mourn. Whatever Tamlin and Lucien may have to say about Rhys, I know what kind of man he is. And for now, I have to trust that. Especially if someone like Mor stands by Rhys’s side.

“Lucien, what are you doing here?” Mor snaps.

“Please, just move, Lucien.” I try to walk around him, but he blocks my path once more.

“Feyre, wait.”

There is more pleading underneath Lucien’s voice than is warranted. He wants me around for a reason other than Tamlin, and I think I know what it is.

I step away from Mor, just a couple of feet, and put my lips close to Lucien’s ear. “You can come with me. If you want.” I’m not sure what else I should say in front of Mor, and try to let my expression tell him everything that I can’t.

Lucien’s eyebrows furrow, torn between coming with me and denying that he might need to. But he steps to the side, letting me go.

Mor guides me away once more, bumping her shoulder with force into Lucien’s.

“Come this way. There is something I want to show you,” she says.

I don’t really know if I have a will of my own, but I trust her not to take advantage of that. Not now. 

Mor surprises me by steering me next door - to my own bookstore.

When we walk in the door, it’s in disarray. I look around for anyone I recognize. Nesta, Elain, even Dad must be in here directing the action, though I can’t imagine any of them taking the initiative.

Half of the bookshelves are emptied and boxes line one wall. They are all labeled by genre: historical fiction, classics, literature, contemporary/commercial fiction. I feel my heart drop into my stomach as I remember what I’ve been told about Rhys and Amarantha. Has he really been screwing with me this whole time?

Mor steps in front of my field of vision, grasping my shoulders with both hands. “This was supposed to be a surprise for you. Rhys has been keeping track of the leases and such. You’ve been quite busy, rearranging things. But he thought he would help it all along.” She steps to the side and gestures to the store. As if the place where I practically grew up needs introduction.

Men and women in jeans and t-shirts, some with back braces, are loading and moving boxes, while two other men are directing the action, surveying the wall that stands between my bookstore and the former furniture store.

“Feyre, darling. Glad you could make it.” Rhys is looking slightly less put-together than normal, but I can’t deny that he’s still attractive as fuck. There’s something about him pulls me in, even if I feel a twinge of guilt that I’ve just come from talking with Tamlin.

“What? What did you do?”

“Well, I know how difficult this type of transition can be. So I called in some help.”

“Transition?” My mind goes to Tamlin, but I’m fairly certain that Tamlin has nothing to do with this change. This is much bigger, and has nothing to do with him.

“Yes. To your new, bigger store. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t know you had been making inquiries.” Rhys looks worried, his violet eyes slightly clouded. But it has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with me and how I feel.

I start sweating as if I’ve been put under a spotlight.

“No, of course. I wanted this. It’s just…” I look around the store, at the bustle of noise and planning that only existed in my head before. “I thought I’d be doing it on my own.”

“Of course. But you aren’t alone, Feyre. Not really.”

I tug on the hem of my thin jacket, and Mor excuses herself to check on the progress.

“Ok. I mean, this is great. I didn’t really know how I would be able to do this myself, I guess. So thanks.”

I let go of my jacket and realize that I’m boiling. I peel it off and suck in a breath when I see someone drop a hardcover on the floor before picking it back up and setting it in a cardboard box. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from myself taking over and directing everyone on the proper way to pack books, but I don’t know anyone here.

Rhys takes my shoulders and forces me to face him. “Feyre, they are going to be working here for a while. In the meantime, I have some people I’d like you to meet.”

I finally tear my eyes away from the mess that is being made of my store. “Who?”

“My brothers.”

“I didn’t know you have brothers.” Truth be told, I don’t know much about Rhys at all, other than he runs some businesses. I haven’t even learned that much about him from Mor.

“Two. And they aren’t technically my brothers, but we grew up together. And they are actually here, helping on this project.” Rhys raises his hand to beckon someone over.

One man is leaning against the wall, and has been apparently waiting for this signal. He gently hits the man next to him on the arm, getting his attention. They are both dark complected and clothed in dirty jeans and ratty t-shirts. I would have thought that they were part of the regular crew here but for the way that others watch them, waiting for instructions.

The one with the grin nearly wider than his face turns and gives directions to one of the underlings Rhys has brought, while the other strolls towards us. He is shorter, his hair more groomed than the smiling one. He extends his hand to me while Rhys speaks.

“Feyre, this is Azriel. Az, this is Feyre.”

I lift my hand mechanically. “Nice to meet you. Feyre. Like he said.” Azriel is beautiful, if of a darker sort of beauty than Rhys. There is something hidden there, something I’m not sure I’d like to make the acquaintance of.

The other one, the one with the smile, joins us. He wipes his hands on his jeans and I notice muscles rippling underneath the thin t-shirt he wears. You would stare too, if you saw him. Things like ex-fiancés and failed engagements and hot guys with mountain homes don’t really matter when it comes to a guy as good-looking as this.

“And this is Cassian,” Rhys explains. “He’s… well, you’ll see.”

Instead of reaching up to shake my hand, Cassian pulls me into a crushing hug. “Feyre! We’ve heard a lot about you.” He lets me go, though he holds on to my shoulders, as if knowing he has ruined my equilibrium through sheer strength. “Just let us know if this asshole gives you too much trouble.” He winks and gives Rhys a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

Rhys purses his lips and seems to let loose a silent prayer.

“Nice to meet you, Cassian.” I turn to the other one. “And Azriel.” If I don’t repeat their names, I’ll never remember. Not when I’m still spinning from my conversation with Tamlin. “What do you do? Do you own businesses in the area or?”

Cassian lets out a laugh and Azriel merely smirks.

“No,” Rhys answers, “These two work for me, but they haven’t quite acquired the capital to own property in this neighborhood. But don’t worry. They will help you out in any way you need.”

“Oh, ok.” I look around the store again. “So you’re helping out here?”

“Yep!” Cassian answers. “We’ll make sure this gets done for you. Of course we won’t put anything back until you give us the go-ahead.” He crosses his arms and takes a wide stance. In a bet between him and a brick wall, I honestly don’t know who I would take to win.

“Oh, good!” Mor rushes back to us from the back of the store. “You’ve met. I’m sorry I missed introductions though. Hopefully these boys were polite?”

I nod. “Yeah, of course.”

Rhys laughs, and I’m not sure why. “They’ll have plenty of time to show you how uncouth they can be. In the meantime, Feyre darling, would you like to come to dinner with us?”

“Feyre,” Cassian says, “I’m not sure if Rhys has taken you to his favorite sushi place, but it would be a travesty if you didn’t try it at least once.” He extends his hand to me. It’s a warm gesture, kind.

“Ok. Are we all going?” I take Cassian’s hand, and he guides my arm onto his own. Such a gentleman, despite the holes in his jeans and the dust on his shirt. It makes me think that all the fine clothing I saw at Tamlin’s social gatherings were mere window-dressing for people who had money, but no sense of humanity. They played at caring; I understand this now.

I feel the solidness of Cassian next to me. Between him, Rhys, Mor, and Azriel, I feel more at home than I ever did at Tamlin’s apartment.

“Yep, we are.” Rhys sidles up next to me, and I take one last glance behind me to the mess the store has become.

I smile, take Rhys’s hand on my other side. Situated between him and Cassian, I look forward. “Lead the way.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre is invited to dinner with Rhys and his friends.

At dinner that night, Mor toasted my new-found freedom, Rhys told everyone about the changes I was having done at the bookstore, and I just… sat there. I’m pretty sure they were more excited for me than I am.  
  
It’s not that I’m not looking forward to those changes. It’s just that comparing my life now to my life a few months ago makes me a bit ill. Change is all well and good until you realize you can’t fall asleep in the same person’s arms anymore, you can’t content yourself with trying to keep a tiny store afloat because suddenly, responsibility has come knocking at your door.  
  
They’ve invited me to come out again tonight, so I’m getting ready. I asked Rhys what sort of place we’re going to, but he wouldn’t tell me. Said it was a surprise. I’m not sure I can handle too many surprises, but Mor is going. And Cassian and Azriel.

I’ve come to like them immensely. When I wander through the store and inspect the walls being knocked down and shelves being moved, they always defer to my judgement. It’s my space and so I shouldn’t be surprised that I have a choice in the matter, but somehow, I am.

I wonder if this is part of what it’s like to feel free.

Then I decide to find out. Tonight.

Rhys texts me when he’s downstairs, and I try not to run to the elevator. It’s been a long time since I’ve just gone out with friends for fun and allowed myself to actually _have_ fun.

I’m wearing a deep blue gown with a taffeta skirt that swishes around my legs when I walk. I didn’t ask for the dress code, just assumed that it would be “nice”. Code for “everyone will look like they’re made of money”. This is one of the remnants of what Tamlin bought me. He ended up disliking the color on me, so of course I kept it.

Rhys looks up and smiles at me when I push my way through the glass doors of my building’s entrance.

Cassian is behind him and pushes off the side of the building with his foot. “Feyre!” His arms are spread wide and I prepare myself to be engulfed in a giant hug. He’s a bit large and, despite looking like a teddy bear, sometimes the “bear” part tends to take over. Cassian wraps me in a surprisingly gentle hug and then lets me go to say hello to Rhys.

“Hi Cassian. Rhys.” I wish I had a jacket or something to wrap around my shoulders, so I could hide and keep Rhys from looking at me the way he is, as if he were admiring a painting.

Rhys shoves his phone in his pocket. “There you are. You look lovely.”

I return his smile, if a bit nervously. Lifting the skirt of my dress in my hands, I let it fall back against my legs. “Do you like it?”

Cassian has wandered a bit down the sidewalk, as if he’s giving Rhys and me some space.

“I love the color on you,” Rhys answers.

“So where are we going?”

“Somewhere special.”

Cassian has rejoined us and offers his arm, which I take gladly. “Seriously, Rhys,” I say, looking over to him. “Haven’t I waited long enough?”

“We’re going to my place.”

“OK.” I assume he means one of the many restaurants he doubtless owns. “So are we Ubering it or?”

Rhys points to a black town car, and Cassian opens the door for me.

In the car ride over, Cassian and I chat while Rhys shifts rather uncomfortably in the seat next to me. Cassian is trying to tell me a story about something at the store, a bet involving him and Azriel and lifting books, a bet that Mor somehow won. But Rhys keeps interrupting him with the truth - apparently Cassian’s version involves some embellishment. I’m finding both versions fairly entertaining, especially the way they bicker like an old couple.

We’re leaving downtown where all the fancy restaurants are, and have managed to make our way to a neighborhood I haven’t been to. My experience of Velaris is rather limited, consisting of whichever stores and restaurants are on the path from my dad’s apartment to the bookstore, or on the way to Tamlin’s place. It’s an odd, suffocating triangle. Or it was.

But now we are entering a residential neighborhood, the type where valets stand by the entrance to buildings and I’m fairly certain I have to pay just to exist. We pull into a basement garage of an apartment building, and realize that when Rhys said we were going to his place, he meant literally. We’re having dinner at his home.

I look down at my dress and feel a bit ridiculous.

Cassian has already leaped out of the car and has continued telling his story without looking to see if we have followed.

I’m still in my seat when Rhys grabs my hand.

“Is this ok? I can take you back to your place, if you want.” There is concern in his eyes.

“No, I’m fine.” I smile, and find that it’s genuine. “Let’s see where you live.”

Rhys offers me his arm as I leave the car, and our arms are still entwined when we enter the elevator. When he hits the button. As we ride it up to the top floor of the building. Heat is slowly building in my face, but I don’t have long to contemplate it.

When the elevator doors open, I have to keep myself from walking to the wall of glass that overlooks the city. The sun is setting, creating splashes of color across the sky that are interrupted by the shadowy, dark buildings that are beginning to be speckled with lights as people turn them on for the evening. I’d like to paint it sometime, and from this exact perspective.

I manage to keep myself in place, to be shown around like a good guest, while Cassian goes straight to the bar to where Mor is seated. She waves at me excitedly, and hops of her barstool to pull an empty wineglass from a cabinet.

A woman with short, dark hair and a severe look strolls up to me and offers me her hand. “Feyre, I’m assuming? Rhys, where are your manners?” She looks back to me. “My name is Amren. I’ve heard a lot about you, from everyone.”

Amren has a glass of red wine in her hand and the edge is stained with the same dark lipstick she wears. She’s hopelessly posh and even in my fancy dress, I feel like I’m just pretending.

“Nice to meet you, Amren. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Amren laughs. “I doubt it. Unless Rhys has been boring you with accounting nonsense.”

Rhys steps next to her, brushing her cheek with a kiss. “Don’t be silly, Amren. I’d never forget to mention you. You’d likely begin embezzling from me or something. Or kill me in my sleep, one or the other.” I don’t doubt the likelihood of Amren doing either of those things. She’s all sharp edges and attitude I could never even attempt.  In comparison to her composure, I feel like I’m 12 years old again and hopelessly flailing about the world.

Mor comes bounding up next to me like an excited puppy, handing me a glass of red wine and then grabbing a handful of my loose skirt. “Feyre, you kept this one! I saw it in your closet, I’m so glad you decided to keep something for yourself. It looks lovely on you.”

“Mor,” Rhys says, “I think Feyre might want to be shown around?”

“Of course! Come on.” Mor grabs my hand before she looks over to Rhys and thinks twice about her plans. “Actually,” she says, handing me back over to Rhys, “I think he should show you around.”

“You mean since this is my house?” Rhys asks.

Mor shrugs. “That’s one reason.”

I’m reminded of the way that Cassian made sure that Rhys and I sat next to one another in the car. It could be nothing, though, the way he and Mor are acting tonight.

Rhys takes me to the living room where Azriel is seated by the fire, drinking an amber liquid from a tumbler. Amren, Cassian, and Mor join him there while we wander.

I’m shown the family room, the library, the study, a few guest rooms. We are about to make our way back out to the others when I stop Rhys. “Where is your room?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You want to see that?”

“Why not?” I’m feigning nonchalance, trying to take a page from Amren’s book already as I sip from the wine that Mor gave me.

Rhys tilts his head, hands in his pockets. “This way.”

We go to the end of the hallway, to the last door.

It opens onto the room that looks the most lived-in of all of them, the warmest. Everything is tasteful, of course. But the books on Rhys’s small personal bookshelf that are arranged haphazardly, the toiletries I can see on the bathroom counter through its open door, the plush robe strewn across the foot of his bed, a silk tie dropped across the back of a sitting chair - all of this is Rhys, through and through.

I take one step in, then another. Rhys waits behind me, hands in his pockets. I run my hand over the bedding, a deep blue that matches my dress. I could sink into this bed and never need to leave. There is a warm smell of embers and jasmine that puts me at ease. It’s my favorite room in the place. But I need to leave it.

I turn back to Rhys. “Thanks.”

“For what?” Rhys is rocking back on his heels, and still hasn’t entered the room.

“For bringing me here. But we should join everyone else, right?”

“Oh, definitely,” Rhys answers. “If we don’t, Cassian is likely to eat all the food before we get there.”

The last room Rhys shows me is the dining room, where the table has been laid out with a veritable Italian feast. I doubt any of them cooked it, but it looks and smells delicious.

Rhys shows me to a chair next to him, while Cassian, Mor, Amren, and Azriel all find their way to seats around the table.

Before I get a chance to start eating, Amren begins asking me questions.

“Feyre, I hear you own the bookstore on 5th. It’s a lovely store.”

“You’ve been in?” I try to scan my memory for when she might have stopped by.

“There was someone else there. She was a bit abrupt. I liked her.”

“Ah,” I nod. “That would have been my sister, Nesta.”

“She was pretty. Like you,” Amren says. “I asked her where I could find Dostoevsky. She asked me if I knew my alphabet.”

I grimace. “Sorry about that.”

Cassian grins, fork in hand. “She sounds like fun. I’d love to meet her.”

I nearly spit out my wine. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Cassian winks at me. “Don’t think she can handle all this?”

“Oh no, Cassian. I don’t think you could handle her.”

“I like a challenge.”

Mor rolls her eyes and nudges Cassian in the side, and they go back to whispering at each other for a moment.

“Feyre,” Azriel says, “when Rhys told us about your collection of art books at the store, I didn’t really believe him.”

I look over to Rhys, then back to Azriel. “What else has Rhys told you about me?”

“Not much,” Rhys says, shooting a warning glance at everyone but me. They all do a marvelous job of pretending he’s not just spoken. “But your store is known for those books, you know. Tourists come to your store just for them.”

I’m beginning to feel pride, and for something I’d nearly forgotten over the last few months. I turn to Azriel. “I can show you my favorites, next week. At least, if they aren’t packed up. It’s nice, getting to see the art with all of that information about the artists’s lives right there. I could look at them for hours.”

Azriel smiles softly. “I appreciate things like that. More than this one does.” Azriel uses his fork to gesture at Cassian.

“Yeah, well, they’re heavy as hell to move,” Cassian grumbles.

“Do you create anything yourself?” Amren asks me.

I flush. “I painted. Or, I paint.” I’m really not sure how to answer the question. “At least, in theory. I used to paint a lot more than I have recently.”

Amren tilts her head. “I’d like to see your work.”

"Ok. Sure.” Maybe one day in the distant future when looking at my old work, family portraits of a family that no longer exists, afternoons with Tamlin that threaten to stab me in the heart - when looking at those is no longer a memory of everything I’ve lost, then perhaps.

Amren wisely lets the subject drop.

Large serving platters are handed around the table, wine bottles opened and emptied, mouths open in laughter, eyes roll - more often at Cassian than anyone else, but I can see the humor in him revels in it - plates are emptied and refilled, and I realize that my wineglass has never really been empty, meaning I have no idea how much I’m drinking.

The next few hours pass in a blur. I didn’t realize how quickly the wine would go to my head, and if I’m being perfectly honest, I’m looking for a bit of forgetfulness right now. Underneath every laugh and smile and grinning glance we all give one another, there is a twinge of regret that refuses to let me go. I wish I could stamp it out and forget that I ever cared for anyone as deeply as I did Tamlin.

I go for the next best thing - more wine.

More time passes, and I realize that Azriel and Amren have left. Mor and Cassian are over in a corner, heads bowed together, snickering like schoolchildren who are up to something naughty. They are exchanging a bottle of tequila between them. Every now and then they glance over to where Rhys and I are seated and grin.

I’m trying to pretend I don’t know why they are looking at us like that.

At some point - I’m not sure when, it could have been an hour ago or just now - someone turned on music. Mor pulls me off of the couch and begins twirling me around, which is fun at first. I make my skirt swish around my legs, and I think I ask everyone about a dozen times if they like the color. But after a while, the alcohol and the twirling are not a friendly combination.

When the music changes to something a bit slower, I find myself in Rhys’s arms. I’m not sure how I ended up here. Perhaps Mor gently nudged me that way, or Cassian. Maybe Rhys grabbed me. I find that the least likely, though my head is so fuzzy that I can’t be certain.

His arms are around my waist, mine are wrapped around his neck, and it’s working out perfectly to keep my steady. Until I look up into his eyes.

I think every day that I’m breaking all over again, but Rhys’s arms around me and his eyes locked on mine makes me forget all of that. Even if I wake up tomorrow morning and feel the same way - like a fissure has opened in my chest and someone has hollowed me out in the night while I slept - I know that I’ll be able to look in his eyes and feel this same thing, though I’m not sure what to name it.

Neither of us speak. The music isn’t so loud that we can’t. It’s just that I don’t want to. I could think of something inane to say, something to fill the space between us. But as I’m looking up at this man who has been there for me in ways that no one else even considered, I find that I don’t want or need to fill that space with anything.

The song changes, again, and again, the tempo increases, but we’re still swaying to the same beat that threw us together in the first place. I can sense Mor and Cassian dancing wildly nearby, laughter, but Rhys and I may as well be alone.

I’m starting to feel a bit warm when Rhys releases my waist.

He asks, “do you want to go outside?”

I nod, and he grabs my hand. I grab my glass of wine on the way out.

The cool evening air feels so good, and I realize how drunk I am when the vertigo from being up so high hits me. I cling to the railing with one hand, while Rhys steadies me with a hand on the small of my back.

“This is beautiful.” The stars are obscured here, and the sky is a strange, deep orange color against the clouds. Instead of stars, the twinkling lights come from others’ apartments, strangers going about their lives in buildings. It’s an odd sort of intimacy, looking across the street and watching them in their kitchens, cuddling on couches, yelling at sports on tv, reading near other fireplaces, and knowing that at any minute, they could look over and see Rhys and me standing on this balcony.

“I come out here a lot. Just watch people.”

“I would do that too. If I could. I mean if I lived here.”

“Well,” Rhys says, “you’re welcome, anytime. Just let me know and I’ll have the doorman let you in.”

“Um, ok. Thanks, Rhys.”

The sounds of the city aren’t exactly calming - sirens, yelling, traffic - but we stand and listen to it for another moment before I feel something stirring.

“Rhys.”

“Yes, Feyre?” He brushes hair from my shoulder, looks into my eyes.

I’m afraid that I’m about to say or do something incredibly stupid, especially given how drunk I am.

Instead I say, “I need to sleep. Or be sick. Or both.”

“Let’s get you inside.”

I nod. “Grrrreat idea. Thanks for being smart.”

He grips my waist harder, steering me inside and then towards one of the guest rooms he showed me earlier. It’s the furthest from his room, and I snicker. Rhys lets it go, doesn’t ask me what’s so funny. Thank goodness.

When we get to the room I flop onto the bed. I feel Rhys taking my shoes off, hear him set them near the nightstand. I cover my eyes with my arm, groan a bit. My stomach is gurgling and I jump out of bed, running to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. It’s not the most graceful thing one could do the first time visiting someone’s home, but I’ll blame Mor and her constant pouring of wine in the morning.

I leave the bathroom to find Rhys waiting for me. He has pulled an armchair next to the bed, left a glass of water on the nightstand, and moved a trashcan nearby.

“Rhys.” I’m trying my damnedest not to slur my words, to sound far more sober than I am. I’m not sure if it’s working, if the sloppy quality of my consonants is just my imagination. I hope so.

“Yes, Feyre?” He places a hand on my forehead, brushes away hairs that I’m too tired to deal with.

“Thanks for being nice.” It comes out sounding like _fanks for bean ice_. I sigh in frustration. “Thanks for being nice,” I repeat.

“I got it. And you’re welcome.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” Rhys turns and pulls the trashcan nearer, hands me a tissue to wipe my face. I guess for my make-up.

“Why you so nice to me? Is it because you hate, um…” I’m trying to think of the name.

“Tamlin?” Rhys asks gently.

“Yes!” I jab a finger into the air. “That one. Thas him.”

“No, that’s not why.”

I take the same finger and jab him in the chest. He sways a bit, and I wonder if he’s as drunk as I am. “Are you as drunk as I am? Wait no. The other question, answer that first."

Rhys’s eyebrows get closer together. “Which question?”

“Oh, I forgot to ask it. If you aren’t nice to me because of someone else, then why?”

“Because you, Feyre Archeron, are a lovely person.”

I laugh and paw at his chest. “No, you are!” I can already see myself frowning and embarrassed tomorrow, but right now, I don’t care. “You’re a nice person, Rhys.”

“You sure about that?” Rhys settles down next to me, resting his head on the bed. His back is to me and I place my hand on his head. For just a moment, he is stiff. Then he lets me stay and I start to run my fingers through his hair. I tug on it a little bit and he sits up to look at me.

“Yes, I’m sure. Lots of people are mean. I don’t like a lot of people here.” And now I can feel the tears coming, and I definitely don’t want that.

Instead, I say, “You’re the mom friend.” I giggle.

Rhys frowns. “That’s how you see me?”

“No,” I say. “Not really. Sorry.”

What am I apologizing for? Maybe sober Feyre can figure it out tomorrow.

“Feyre, get some sleep. I’ll be here, ok? Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Ok. Fanks.”


	15. Chapter 15

The next morning, I wake up in Rhys’s apartment. Before I open my eyes, I know I’ve done something really stupid. It would be great if I could leave them shut, but then I won’t be able to leave.

Plus, I smell bacon.

Every part of my body is in outright war with the others for my attention. My head is pounding and my throat is raw, my stomach is growling and I have a fluttering in my core that comes from the memory of dancing with Rhys. The skirt of my dress is wrapped around my legs, but I say a small thanks for that mercy. At least I’m dressed, even if sleeping in an evening gown is not nearly as glamorous as it sounds.

When I open my eyes, I take in the room. I remember it from when Rhys showed me around his penthouse, what seems like ages ago. Heavy, dark draperies are pulled over the window, or else I might have been woken by the sun awhile ago. The chair Rhys had pulled next to the bed is still there, a blanket thrown over the back of it like he slept there all night. There is a bouquet of flowers on a dresser. Jasmine and peonies. They fill the room with a heady, delicious scent.

The glass of water is still next to the bed, so I sit up, grabbing for it. I drink the entire glass almost in one go, and then regret it almost immediately. It makes my stomach churn more, though I know I’m dehydrated. It’s times like this when I wonder why anyone drinks alcohol, ever.

I set the glass down and look down at my hand, the impression coming to me that Rhys must have held it. Not when we were dancing, but later. While I was falling asleep. I flex my fingers and trace the lines in my palm. Maybe it didn’t happen. Though I’m fairly certain that I remember warmth, comfort, skin on skin.

I’m not quite naive enough to think I’m merely embarrassed at drinking myself to the point where my host had to lead me to a guest room. For pity’s sake, Rhys listened to me getting sick last night. That should be enough embarrassment to last me a lifetime, but no. There is something else going on. That unsettled feeling in my stomach is equal parts aching from all the wounds Tamlin has dealt me, and curiosity about Rhys. It would be just fantastic if both of those feelings would go away.

I’ve known for weeks, longer, that Tamlin was no longer making me happy. And now, I’m realizing that I was ok with it. I was so used to doing things for everyone else that for a moment, I thought I didn’t matter. I know that’s wrong. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things.

And with Rhys… though I wish just a little bit that the thought of him wasn’t causing this pleasant unpleasantness, there might be something there. I ignored it at first, when that’s what I was supposed to do. Denial is easy when you know what you’re feeling is wrong. And it was. Full stop. But that’s also past tense. So what about now?

I groan and roll over, pressing my face into my pillow. No, not my pillow. Rhys’s pillow. It’s just one I happen to have used last night. And in a final parting gift, I have managed to smear it with my make-up.

I try to adjust the straps of my dress because it’s so damn uncomfortable. I have small marks in the skin of my shoulders where the beading has been pressing into me. I sit up, wishing I’d brought some clothing with me, but that definitely would have sent the wrong signal. And it’s not as if I meant to drink so much, or even knew that I was going to see Rhys’s place. However, at the foot of the bed there is a pair of soft cotton pants and a t-shirt. Rhys’s clothing, but he must have known I’d need something. It wouldn’t be a real walk of shame if I weren’t wearing last night’s outfit, even if I don’t exactly have anything to be ashamed of.

Because nothing happened between Rhys and me. Nothing physical, at least.

I sniff, reminding myself of the smell that’s coming from outside the guest room door, and stand. It feels awkward taking my clothes off in Rhys’s apartment, so I take my dress off as quickly as possible and throw on the clothes that he left for me. They smell freshly laundered and fit me loosely. I’m not sure that leaving Rhys’s place in his clothing is any better than walking out of the building wearing an evening gown in the middle of the morning, but I suppose it’s better than nothing.

I remember where the kitchen is from here, and when I enter, Rhys’s back is to me. He’s standing at the stove. I look around for staff, but it’s just him, ingredients spread all over the counters and a laptop playing a video next to him, which he keeps glancing at.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Feyre!” Rhys exclaims without turning around. He reaches over to the laptop and pauses the video before he turns. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

I cross my arms in front of my unsupported chest. “Well, thank you. Thanks for leaving me that water.”

“Of course. Sorry Mor kept filling your glass. I told her to be more careful.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I’m a big girl. I should have stopped long before I did.” I don’t add that I’d decided before leaving my house to let my hair down, so to speak. Turns out, I had a bit too much fun with my freedom.

Rhys smiles, a spatula in one hand, his apron a mess of flour and batter. “I see you are wearing my clothes.”

“Oh, yeah.” I look down and tug on the t-shirt that says _I’d rather be reading_. “Did you buy this with me in mind or what?”

“No, but you’re welcome to keep it.”

“Ok, thanks. You’re making pancakes?”

“Blueberry.”

“You know how?”

Rhys raises an eyebrow at me. “Why would you think I couldn’t?”

I shrug. “I guess I assumed you’d have people to do that for you.”

“People?”

“Yeah, you know. Staff. People who work for you, do your bidding.” I twirl a lock of hair around my finger. It’s hard not to make assumptions about someone like Rhysand Chevalier. Before yesterday, I might have thought this place would be less… home-y. I’d have thought his work would have found its way out of his office and into the living room. Perhaps all the walls would be black, a shiny grand piano in a corner where Rhys would play Chopin and drink scotch. With a coaster underneath the glass, to keep from ruining the finish of the piano. And alone. He would definitely be alone in this scenario.

Instead, what I found was a man surrounded by friends who care about him, a warmth and welcome that might have shocked people who only know Rhys by reputation. His life is clearly delineated into work and play, and it seems there is more to him than taking over the business world, one small bookstore at a time.

Then again, I was wrong about Tamlin, too.

“My bidding. Well, Feyre darling, my staff have weekends off.”

“You’ve heard of such a thing?” I sit on a barstool and watch him pour more batter onto the skillet.

“I’m not a complete monster. Despite what you may have heard about me.”

A name floats through the air between us. I’m still not sure I understand Rhys’s history with Amarantha. It’s not my business. Unless this unpleasant pleasantness in my stomach turns out to be real feelings, and the man who spent the night holding my drunk hand has something similar going on inside. Then I will definitely, one hundred percent need to understand what is going on there.

“So where did you learn how to make pancakes?”

“YouTube,” Rhys answers. “You can learn a lot on there. If you happen to be a man with staff who never has to cook for himself.”

I glance over to the counter and see his laptop there, the paused video.

“I was hoping to surprise you,” he continues. “Make you think I just knew how to do all of this already.”

“Sorry to ruin the illusion. I can go back to bed and pretend, if you’d like?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Rhys grins and locks his eyes on mine.

I think of myself in that bed in the guest room, Rhys next to me on that chair. What it might have been like if I’d woken up and he were next to me in the bed instead. The way he’s gripping that spatula makes me wonder if he’s thinking something similar.

We are still looking at one another when I notice a new smell. I scrunch up my nose, and realize what it is. “Rhys, your pancake."

“What? Oh!” He turns back to the stove and takes the last pancake from the skillet. “I hope you like your pancakes well-done. Or… maybe we’ll just toss that one.” He dumps it into the sink, and I sigh. Clearly, the man has never dealt with a clogged disposal.  
  
“Well, I think we’re ready to eat.” Rhys carries two platters, one filled with pancakes and the other piled with bacon, to a small breakfast nook. “Would you care to join me?”  
  
I nod eagerly. It was all I could do not to reach over him and pull bacon straight from the pan while he was finishing the pancakes. I stand and make my way to the table, pulling out a chair.  
  
Rhys lifts a finger. “I forgot something.” He goes back behind the kitchen counter, rummaging in the cabinets, and then appears with two champagne flutes tucked between his fingers.  
  
“Oh, Rhys, I don’t know about that.” My stomach is already turning at the thought of more alcohol.  
  
“Just wait.” He sets the flutes down on the table and returns to the kitchen. When he comes back, he has two bottles; one of them is champagne, and the other is orange juice. “Your choice. You can have a true Sunday brunch, complete with mimosas, or,” he says, gesturing to the plastic jug, “you can have a sober breakfast.”  
  
“How about I start with orange juice.”  
  
I go to reach for the jug but Rhys is too quick for me. He breaks the plastic seal and pours me a glass. “A virgin mimosa it is,” he says.  
  
“I’m pretty sure you can just say I’m having a glass of orange juice. But,” I add, when he grins, “Calling it a virgin mimosa makes it sound much fancier.” There are bottles of syrup, butter, jam, and other condiments on the table. I pick up a bottle of syrup in an ornately-carved glass bottle. “Does even your syrup have to be fancy?”  
  
“Someone bought that for me. Nuala, probably.”  
  
“See, you do have ‘people’,” I say.  
  
“Come on Feyre, you can’t expect me to keep running my business and getting groceries and cleaning this place and visiting bookstores and still have time to keep myself in shape, can you?”  
  
That funny feeling in my stomach is back, but I tell myself it’s hunger. “Good point.” I reach over and fill my plate with food. I could easily keep up the flirting banter. Hell, I _want_ to. But also I really, really need to not get fucked over so soon after Tamlin, and I’m still not sure about this man with the violet eyes who always manages to step in exactly when I need him.  
  
Once Rhys is seated, our glasses and plates filled, he lifts his glass in a toast. “Feyre, darling, I’d like to say something.”  
  
My stomach growls embarrassingly loudly, but I also give a silent thanks that it gave some sign that it’s not really the time for talk, without me having to be rude and refuse. But Rhys’s hand hasn’t wavered, so I lift my glass.  
  
“What are we toasting to?” I ask.  
  
“Well, Feyre, I’ve been thinking. We’ve known each other for several months now. And you’ve gone through a lot of changes in that time. I admire you a lot, you know. You look smashing in my t-shirt, and were kind enough to vomit in the toilet instead of somewhere less convenient. All in all, I’d say-“  
  
At this point, I’ve had enough. “Rhys!” I exclaim, exasperated. “Can we please eat? And toast whatever it is that you want to toast later?”  
  
Rhys grins. “I was just giving you a hard time, darling. Eat.”  
  
“Bastard,” I mutter.  
  
I dig into the food eagerly and stifle a moan when I taste the pancakes. I squirm in my chair a bit, trying to remember my manners.  
  
Rhys snickers. “Good?”  
  
“YouTube did you right,” I say in between shoveling bites into my mouth.  
  
Rhys watches me eat for a minute, until I can’t take it any more. “What is it?” I feel like I should be embarrassed about something, but I’m not sure what.  
  
Rhys shakes his head. “You just… you seem ok.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“The whole time I’ve known you, you’ve walked around with your shoulders kind-of… bowed. Like you were afraid to stand up, take up space. Be noticed.” Rhys looks down to his food and picks up a piece of bacon. “I like this new Feyre, is all.”  
  
“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. There should be something, surely, but what could I possibly say to that?  
  
I shift in my seat. Time to change the subject. “Did Mor tell you about the auction?”  
  
“She told me that it went well, but not much more than that.”  
  
I smile. “Yeah, it went really well. I think I might be able to hold art classes, for free. Somewhere for kids to go after school, if they don’t want to go home, or can’t, for whatever reason.”  
  
“That’s great, Feyre.” Rhys’s voice is gentle. “You’ll be fantastic at that. Do you need some more help at the store? I can think of a few people who might be willing to step in, take over some of the management duties.”  
  
“You mean Amarantha?” I clench my toes, waiting for the blow.  
  
Instead, Rhys looks like I’ve struck him. “Why would you say that?”  
  
“I told you, I’ve just heard some things. That you and she work together often.”  
  
Rhys sets his fork down on his plate, but so quietly that I don’t hear the metal hit the china. “There is something you should know about Amarantha. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”  
  
I set my fork down as well, and wait.  
  
“Amarantha is - was - a family friend. She and my father partnered quite often. I knew her growing up,” Rhys says. “Because of the ways that our companies have collaborated in the past, the ways she and my father made deals, I’m forced to work with her on occasion. I wouldn’t, but I don’t have a choice right now. I’m looking into ways to separate our holdings, but she isn’t cooperating.”  
  
I wait for more details. I don’t know if I’ll be able to take it. I keep silent.  
  
“But when I was barely out of high school, we spent some time together.” Rhys looks at me pointedly. “The summer after graduation I was hardly out of her presence. By the end of it, I barely knew who I was anymore. I let her dictate my entire life, my choices. Everything.”  
  
I blink. “She’s quite a bit older than you, isn’t she? You were practically a kid.”  
  
“Yes. She is. And I was.” Rhys looks back down at his plate. “It was a lesson in how quickly and easily someone else can screw you over. Take everything, strip you of your power, your will. But hey,” he adds bitterly. “I was legally an adult, right? And she’s a beautiful woman. So who cares if a spoiled brat, heir to the Chevalier fortune, gets smacked around a bit.”  
  
Rhys’s words could be my own. And this must be why he has been there for me when no one else realized it might be necessary. He recognized the same brokenness in Tamlin that led to his own treatment.  
  
I think about the times that I’ve heard people whisper about Rhys and Amarantha at those events, those charities were people are supposed to be selfless. The way they could have been aware that someone like Amarantha was surely taking advantage of a young, inexperienced Rhys, and still mocked and teased and so willingly misunderstood him and his relationship with Amarantha. Threw it in his face, even. I think of what Lucien said. What Tamlin insinuated. I want to be sick.  
  
I reach across the table and cover Rhys’s hand with my own. “You don’t have to tell me anything else, if you don’t want.”  
  
Rhys frees his thumb and runs it over my hand. “Thank you.”  
  
In my head, I’m standing. I’m walking over to Rhys and wrapping my arms around him, letting him bury his face in my stomach, finding warmth and comfort in me. The longing is so strong that I lean towards him as we look at one another. I think he might kiss me, and I don’t think I would mind.  
  
Instead, he reaches up and brushes hair out of my face, sighs, and then pulls away from me. “You should finish eating. I can have my driver take you home.” He picks up his fork. “I’ll have your dress taken to a cleaner and sent to you.”  
  
“Oh.” I pick up my fork. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”  
  
We spend a few minutes finishing up the food, asking one another to pass the syrup, the bacon, butter, the conversation getting as far away from personal as it possibly can. I have the impression of having been pushed into the deep end of Rhysand’s life, only to be yanked out and left shivering on the shore, standing in the shallows, cold and alone.  
  
“Feyre,” Rhys starts.  
  
I look up at him hopefully. “Yes?”  
  
“I think I’d like to see you again. Maybe we can meet at the bookstore?”  
  
I try to keep from feeling crestfallen, or at least to keep the disappointment from my face. Of course, he wants to talk business. “Sure. I’ll be there again tomorrow, working.”  
  
“Wait, I think you misunderstand,” Rhys says. “I mean… what I meant to say was that I’d like to take you to dinner. Not here but in a restaurant. And without my friends there.”  
  
“Rhys, are you asking me out on a date?”  
  
“I suppose that is what one calls it. But if you’re not ready, it’s fine. Or heck, if you don’t want to,” he says, raising his hands in surrender, “I understand that too. No pressure. It wouldn’t change anything with the bookstore or the building or anything else.”  
  
I’m laughing. “Rhys, would you like to draw up a contract? Something about consenting to go on a date with you and what that will and won’t entail?”  
  
“I suppose that’s not necessary.” He grins, his violet eyes sparkle, and I think I could shove all these sticky plates to the floor to crawl across the table to him. Just to kiss him on the cheek.  
  
“Then yeah. I’d like to go to dinner with you. On a date.”  
  
That unpleasant pleasantness in my stomach has definitely become more pleasant than not, and I don’t know what that means, or what I want it to mean.  
  
“A date,” he echoes.  
  
We spend the rest of breakfast trying not to grin at one another, making plans. And I’m fairly certain that for the first time in ages, I could say that I’m happy.


	16. Chapter 16

I haven’t heard the bell over the door ring in weeks. I’m eager to get the bookstore open again, to have a new normal. We took the bell down because the constant coming and going of construction workers, contractors, and movers was making its notice redundant.

But for right now, I’m just sitting on a box of books, alone, cradling the bell in my hands, waiting for Rhys, Nesta, and Elain to stop by so we can discuss the progress.

I’m used to the relative solitude here. People treat bookstores like libraries, often, hushing one another and perusing alone. I have to keep an eye out for window shoppers, though. People are either here to show their loyalty to small bookshops, or to check things out before they buy them on Amazon, and you can tell which type of customer I’d rather have. You know, the one who actually pays for what I have to offer.

If I sound bitter, it’s because I am.

Thinking about Rhys quickly covers up that emotion with another that causes me to smile to myself, looking like an idiot at random, unpredictable times of day. I have to keep it hidden, or else Nesta will raise an eyebrow, Mor will poke me in the ribs, and Elain will start squealing. It’s not that I don’t appreciate their support. I’m just not exactly sure what it is they are supporting.

I hate that “it’s complicated” is a relationship status I can claim. It wouldn’t be, if a break-up could ever have nice, neat edges. The kind that mean the guilt at failure, the wondering what I could have done differently, done better, would just stay in the past.   
  
For now, I’m thinking ahead to when we reopen. The holidays are much busier, and this time of year it’s all about beach reads. I need to make sure we open before schools let out for summer, before I miss out on the crowds looking for bestselling paperbacks to take with them on vacation. In the meantime, I’m looking at a very large, very empty space that needs to be organized and filled. I’ve had to increase my inventory, and the investment has been as anxiety-inducing as exciting. If this all goes to hell, I’ll have far more books to get rid of.   
  
It’s a huge risk, and one I never would have taken six months ago. But it was this, or lose it all.   
  
I would never tell him, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Rhys. I’ve been wearing that shirt to bed, since it was so comfortable. No one would suspect I hadn’t bought it myself. Not that anyone has seen me in bed recently.   
  
It’s driving me crazy, how Rhys slips insidiously and quietly into my thoughts. I’m in the shower, and I find myself smiling about something he said. I’m buttering my toast at breakfast, and I’m thinking of the way he looked in front of that stove, making pancakes. I brush my hair at night, and think about his hand on my waist while we danced.   
  
I blink, my vision refocusing on the store. Most of the books are in storage now, and not only does the absence of mess make the store look bigger, but it is literally more than twice as large as it was before. When I agreed to take the space over from the furniture store, it hadn’t occurred to me how much space they had. My heart skips a few beats in anxiety. What if this doesn’t work? How will Dad be able to stay in his apartment? How will Nesta and Elain keep paying on their student loans?   
  
Perhaps it is better to think about Rhys. At least I have some modicum of control with him. Or at least, I think I do.   
  
My lips curl in another stupid grin, and I realize how ridiculous the idea of control is when it comes to how I feel. Good or bad, it’s like my heart is taking me for a joy ride these days.    
  
“Wow!” Elain’s voice carries across the store as if it were a cave. She steps inside and looks around in wonder, Nesta and Rhys following her. “They really did it!”  
  
With no bell on the door, I hadn’t been warned about them entering. I stand to greet them. “Yep. They knocked that wall out last week.”   
  
Elain gives me a half-hearted hug before moving on to look at the new space. She pushes past the old boundaries between the stores, turning in a circle and eyeing everything in wonder. She looks at everything with the new joy of a child, and a part of me envies her that.  
  
Nesta approaches me next, and I see Rhys behind her, hands in his pockets as he strolls away, letting us speak. “You’ve really done it, Fey.”  
  
I nod. “Yeah. Well, in a way. Rhys helped a lot, and Azriel and Cassian.”  
  
“You need to meet them,” Rhys adds. “I think Cassian in particular was interested in a get-together.”  
  
I cough, and Nesta frowns slightly. “Is there some joke I’m not aware of?” she asks.   
  
I shake my head with too much force. We may not be that close, but she can still read my discomfort. “No, of course not,” I say, rather uselessly.   
  
“Well, what did you want us to come here for?” Nesta is straight down to business, as I knew she would be.  
  
I gesture to the empty space. Dust motes are floating through the air, illuminated in a ray of sunshine, one of the few that makes its way into the store at any point in the day. “I wanted to let you know what the plans are. Just so you could stay in the loop.” I don’t know if either Nesta or Elain care, but I thought I would try.  
   
“Alright.” She waits for me to continue.   
  
Elain has barely looked at me and I don’t know if she’s listening, but I explain. “The next thing that needs to happen is we need to get the new shelving in here. We already have a floor plan, of course, so I know where they will be located.”  
  
 “Are you expanding sections or including new ones?” Nesta asks.   
  
“Well,” I say, glancing at Elain. She’s still wandering around the space, taking it in with her hands, now, fingers running over walls. I wonder what is going through her mind. “I want to expand what we already had, but I’m going to have a space over here,” I walk to a far corner, indicating a space, “where we’ll have authors come in for readings. And then over here,” I continue, walking to another area in the back, “I’m planning on having reserved for children’s books. We can have costume parties for them, things like that. Cassian is building us a small castle that will fit in here.”   
  
It seems like I’ve finally gotten Elain’s attention. She presses her palms together in joy. “Can I help with that?”   
  
“Sure.” I’m assuming that Elain’s idea of help is to dress up like a princess and read stories with little attention to scheduling, but I’ll take any assistance from them that I can get.  
  
“And Mom’s chair?” Nesta’s arms are crossed.  
  
I bite the inside of my cheek before I answer her. “I think I’m going to keep it in the children’s section. Parents can sit there. I’ll find some other seating as well.”  
  
“We can use it for the person doing readings for the kids,” Elain says, grinning. “It will be perfect.”   
  
Nesta nods and walks away from me, following Elain. I watch them for a moment, their heads bent and whispering. Just like that, I feel a veil drop between us. And then I feel Rhys step up next to me.   
  
“How are you doing, Feyre?”   
  
I nod, once, and turn to him. “I’m doing alright.” I lower my voice. “I don’t know if I thanked you properly for the other day.” I glance at Nesta and Elain, make sure they aren’t paying attention to us. “For taking care of me and then breakfast and everything. It was really nice of you.”  
  
“Oh, you did fank me,” Rhys says.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing.” He waves his hand in the air. “There’s no need for thanks, Feyre. It was my pleasure.”  
  
I blush a bit. “I’m sure it wasn’t fun or anything. Pretty gross at parts, really. So anyway, yeah. Thanks.”  
  
“You’re quite adorable while you’re drunk, you know.” He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and I look over to Nesta and Elain again. They don’t notice, but I back up slightly.   
  
“Ok.” What an idiot. If someone looked up the definition of ‘idiot’ in the dictionary, they’d find me. Rhys takes the hint, at least, and his hand drops to his side.   
  
Rhys chuckles. “We need to talk about something, you know.”  
  
Yes, I do know exactly what he means. The date. Our plans. We haven’t discussed them since that morning. But there’s no way I can talk about that in front of Nesta and Elain, and I’m sure he gets that. Just to be sure, I look over to my sisters, and then back to Rhys. “Yeah. When they’ve left?”  
  
“Of course. So, Feyre darling, have you decided if you need more staffing for this place?”  
  
My initial reaction is to say that I can handle it myself, but I am quickly realizing, looking at this wide open space that will soon become a maze of books, that I might actually need the help. “Yeah, I think I should hire some people.”   
  
“Probably before we - you - open,” he adds. Noticing my look of doubt, he continues. “A grand re-opening of a bookstore? With my name attached? You’ll need the help, especially at first.”  
  
“Especially with your name attached, huh?”  
  
Rhys shrugs. “There’s no point in pretending I don’t have influence in this town, Feyre.”  
  
I know he’s right. “Ok, I’ll put out a call for applications.”  
  
“And in the meantime, you can count on your other friends to help you out. At least at first, until they have to get back to their day jobs.”  
  
I’m confused. “My friends?” Then it dawns on me. Rhys means Mor. And Cassian, and Azriel, and maybe even Amren. “Oh. I see. They don’t have to do that. It’s no trouble, really. They don’t want to be the hourly help, work retail.”  
  
Rhys raises a hand to stop me. “All you have to do is ask, Feyre, and I’m sure they’d be more than happy to pitch in.”  
  
Elain and Nesta are approaching, so I change the subject back to preparing the store to open. “So the furniture is being delivered Friday, and I’ll be here to direct them. Then Az and Cassian are having going to help direct the movers bringing the books back?”  
  
“Yes. And I’ll be here as well, of course.” Rhys has his hands clasped behind his back now, and it tears at my heart a little, the way he keeps away when they are watching.  
  
“I’ll help!” Elain exclaims.   
  
“Aren’t you and Mor going out of town this weekend?” I ask.   
  
Elain blushes slightly. “Yes. But just let me know if you need anything, please.”  
  
Nesta tilts her head. “What about me?”  
  
I blink, confused. “What about you?”  
  
“How can I help?”  
  
You could have knocked me over with a feather. “I didn’t think about you.”   
  
Nesta raises an infamous eyebrow.   
  
“I mean,” I continue, “I didn’t think you’d want to help. That much.”  
  
She doesn’t respond.  
  
“But of course, you can help unpack boxes. Once all the shelving is built and put in, we’ll have a lot of books that need to be shelved. They’ll be arranged by genre but just make sure they are in the right order.”   
  
“And you do pride yourself on your knowledge of the alphabet,” Rhys adds.  
  
“What?” Nesta’s confusion is peppered with annoyance. She must have forgotten what she said to Amren.   
  
“It’s nothing,” I say, shooting Rhys a look. “Thank you, Nesta. Really, it will be a huge help.”  
  
“This is all great, Feyre, you’ve done a nice job.” Elain smiles softly. “We’re going to take off, but let us know if you need anything, ok?” She leans over and pecks me on the cheek.   
  
“Sounds good, thanks guys.” I give them a small wave as they leave. It doesn’t feel final until the bell rings, which it won’t. I give it a minute before I turn back to Rhys.   
  
“Alone at last,” he says.   
  
I let out a deep breath and slump back onto the box of books I was sitting on when they entered. “Do you think I can really do this?”  
  
“Well, you don’t have much of a choice, do you?” Rhys says.  
  
“I’m not kidding.” I look around the store, think about the amount of work and hope that needs to go into it.  
  
“I wasn’t joking,” he answers. “Why would you think you couldn’t do it?”  
  
I hesitate. I think about the way my dad’s mouth would turn down in disbelief, the indifference in Tamlin’s voice, the warnings that Lucien gave me about working with Rhys. Six months ago, I had no one in my life who would have encouraged me to do this, let alone given me so much help in completing this goal. Amarantha would have had her way with me and my store.   
  
“Habit,” I finally say.   
  
“Bad habit,” Rhys rejoins.   
  
I stand again and place my hands on my hips. For all my nerves, a good portion of them are coming from anticipation. What I didn’t tell Elain and Nesta is that I want part of this space to hold my art studio. It feels self-indulgent, but the space where we will hold author readings will be empty when not being used for that purpose. And, being in a different part of the building, the lighting will be much better than what I had before.  
  
“Rhys, can I run an idea past you?”  
  
“Sure thing.” He crosses his arms and leans against the counter where the register will still stand.   
  
“You know about the auction I had, and how Mor helped me, and my plans for that. I have the space for it now, here. Do you think that would be ok?”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
I bite my lip. “I just didn’t know if it would be a good idea.”  
  
“Because it would focus on something you want? Not what others need?”  
  
I sigh. “Yes.”  
  
“But it doesn’t, Feyre. It’s helping other people. So what if it’s related to your passion?”  
  
“I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.”  
  
“You’ve worked for this. You deserve it. Don’t overthink it.”  
  
Rhys reaches for me, and I move toward him without thinking about what I’m doing. I wish there was music playing, people talking, something to distract me from the fact that we are alone, that I want to lean my forehead into his chest and let his arms wrap around me.   
  
Instead, Rhys places his hands on my elbows. “Feyre, I asked if you wanted to go to dinner last week.”  
  
“Yes?” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit apprehensive. It’s not Rhys. It’s me. There is still a small part of me that says it’s wrong, that is angry at how things turned out with Tamlin. It’s like a small gnat that’s managing, somehow, to hold me back. Me, a full-grown, adult woman, who just can’t let go of the past long enough to let herself enjoy a date with a lovely man.  
  
“We should set a date. I mean a time for us to go,” he says.  
  
“When works for you?”  
  
“No, you’re far busier than I am these days, Feyre. You’ve got to get this store open.”  
  
“Ok,” I say slowly. “How about this. Let’s wait.”  
  
Rhys’s smile falters. “Wait? For what, exactly?”  
  
“I want to go out with you to celebrate the store. The grand re-opening. I think it would be… fitting.”  
  
“You’re upping the stakes, Feyre darling. I’ll really have to sweep you off your feet if I’m to compete with your store opening up in all its renovated glory.”  
  
“Not quite, I don’t think it will be that big of a deal.” I pause. “Unless you’re planning something?”  
  
“Me?” Rhys asks. “I wouldn’t do that.”  
  
I tilt my head at him. “Then Mor.” No response. Rhys’s lips don’t twitch, he doesn’t shift on his feet. There is only a small twinkle in his eyes. “Both of you? Actually, no.” I hold my hand up. “I don’t think I want to know. Just don’t go too nuts, ok?”  
  
“I promise to not go _too_ nuts,” he says.   
  
“And you can choose where we go to dinner, on our date,” I add.  
  
Rhys frowns slightly. “Why would I do that? Don’t you want to decide together?”  
  
“I just assumed you’d want to decide.”  
  
Rhys pauses. “But why, Feyre? Why wouldn’t I give you a say?”  
  
There are layers, feet and yards and miles of layers under what he is saying. And I am very clear on the fact that he is saying something; his was not a question, but a declarative statement, despite his intonation.  
  
And we both know why. After being with Tamlin, I’m not used to making those types of decisions myself.   
  
“Ok, I’ll decide,” I say firmly. “That will be my part. I decide what we eat.”  
  
Rhys smiles. “That sounds perfect. Plus, it will help me get to know you better.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Well, I get to see where you like to go, what kind of food you like, what neighborhood you are familiar with.”  
  
“Oh.” I hadn’t realized there could be so much meaning in what restaurant I choose, and I grow nervous.  
  
“I’m kidding, Feyre, whatever you choose will be fine. And I promise not to read too much into it.”  
  
“Ok.” I stand up and look around to make sure I’m not leaving anything behind. I pat my back pocket to make sure my phone is in it and grab my purse.   
  
“Before we go, will you do something for me?”  
  
Rhys was already making his way to the door, but he stops. “Anything.”  
  
I hold the bell out to him. “Will you hang this back up over the door?”  
  
“Of course.” He takes it from me and stretches, having to get on his toes to reach the hook.   
  
I tilt my head, admiring his backside, and unfortunately don’t look away in time to keep him from noticing. He grins at me and I give him an exaggerated frown.   
  
“Enjoying the view?” he asks.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I answer. He knows he’s beautiful. He must. He doesn’t need me to tell him.  
  
He strolls back over to me, hands in his pockets.  
  
“Feyre, are you sure you want to wait for the opening before we go out? It’s about two weeks away, you realize.” He rocks back and forth on his heels, waiting for my answer.  
  
There are few things I want more than to spend more time with Rhysand Chevalier. I never would have though that would be true, the first time he strolled into my store. Waiting two weeks sounds like forever, but it will be that much better, for it to be tied to such an important moment in my life.  
  
It’s funny, the opportunities that life sends your way, just as they take away others. And the place in my chest, where I had once felt emptiness, it is beginning to fill with something that feels an awful lot like hope.   
  
“Yes,” I say.  
  
“I’d be honored, then, to escort you,” Rhys says.  
  
I smile. He lifts his arm and I join him, tucked in close to his side.  
  
He leads me out, closing the door behind us, and the bell rings.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre celebrates the re-opening of her bookstore, then goes on her first date with Rhys.

The re-opening of the bookstore wasn’t supposed to be an occasion, but according to Mor and everyone else I’ve talked to about it, I need to make a big deal. This might explain why the store wasn’t doing so great in the first place; I’m not exactly one for putting myself in the spotlight.

We’d done some advertising, sent out email invites and gone onto social media. Well, Mor did that part. In fact, she did so much that I was afraid this thing was going to get out of hand. Rhys promised he’d keep an eye on her, but I still haven’t gone in to see how the preparations are going. We have giveaways and contests planned, but everyone has been so eager to help that who knows what I will walk in to.

And then afterwards, it will just be Rhys and me. I decided on a restaurant, one of my favorite, a small place where they do Italian with fresh, house-made pasta. I don’t imagine that Rhys is looking for anything fancier, but I have a back-up plan. Just in case. 

I brush my skirt down my legs, looking at myself in a full-length mirror. I chose a simple black dress that falls to my knees and twirls a bit when I move. I have to represent myself as a shop owner, after all. But the back of the dress… that’s something for Rhys to discover when I’m done being professional. In the meantime, I throw a black cardigan over the top, and head out.

When I walk into the store, an hour before the opening, I’m surprised to find Rhys, Mor, Elain, and Azriel already there. Elain is draped in colorful streamers and laughing at something Mor said. Azriel is moving some furniture around at Rhys’s direction. There are chairs lined up in rows, pointed towards a microphone stand - where I’ll be expected to kick off the festivities - and music is coming from a speaker that has been set next to the register. 

Elain twirls once to free herself from the rainbow of streamers, and jumps up and down when she sees me, clapping her hands and gesturing wildly while Mor tries to save the thin bits of paper from being shredded. 

Rhys notices the distraction and looks up at me, his face breaking into a broad smile. I can’t help but mirror him, even as my nerves threaten to ruin my mood. My lips form the shape of a smile but I’m glad that he is too far to see them tremble, just slightly. I press them together in an attempt to calm myself. I haven’t forgotten that after this, we’re going out, just the two of us. On a date.

I have no idea what to expect. 

I stroll up to Rhys and he meets me in the middle of the store. I hear Elain giggle again, but refuse to look over to her. I’m sure she and Mor have been whispering about the two of us enough, but at the moment I couldn’t care less if we are giving them a show. 

“Hello, Feyre.” Rhys’s hands are tucked into his pockets, as if he has just happened across my path. 

“Where’s my ‘darling?’” I ask. 

Rhys extends his hand to grasp my own, and I comply. He waits to answer until after he has placed a small kiss on the back of my hand. “Don’t worry,” he says. “We have plenty of time for that later.” 

I swallow. “So, how is everything going?” I’ll ignore the reference to our date, though I’m the one who started with the banter.

“Fantastic. Elain and Mor are taking care of the decorations, Azriel is making sure there is enough space for everyone. Cassian and Nesta are on their way with refreshments.”

“Together?”

Rhys shrugs. “Perhaps. Mor just told me she had sent them on errands and that their paths might cross.”

I look over to Mor and she shoots me a grin. Who knows why she is smiling at me like that, if it’s about her trying to set up Cassian and Nesta or if it’s something else I don’t know about. I decide to let it go. “What do you need me to do?”

“Oh, no,” Rhys says. “You just hang out and let us do the work.”

I’m about to protest when he adds a question. “Have you worked on your speech?”

I blanche. “It’s not long. It’s a short thing, really. Do I need to do it?” Everyone thought it might be good if I say something about the changes to the store, just to kick off the event, but every time I went to write the words came flooding out until they had nothing to do with the store, and everything to do with Tamlin and Ianthe and Rhys and Mor and how I hadn’t felt my heart so full in ages. In fact, there may have been bits about not realizing that I had holes in my chest until they had been filled in by friends and family I could trust. 

Since that isn’t exactly the type of speech I am meant to give, I had to stop trying. But now I have to come up with something.

Rhys gently cups my elbow and guides me to my mother’s orange chair. “Why don’t you sit here, give it some time. It doesn’t have to be long, you know.” Once I’m settled, Rhys crouches down and looks me in the eye. “If you need any help, let me know. I can read it for you, or I’m sure Elain or Nesta could.” 

I shake my head. “It’s alright. I can do it.” 

Rhys walks away, joining Elain and Mor, where I see Mor gently whack Rhys on the arm with a roll of purple streamers. Who knows what she’s said to him, but Elain looks over his shoulder and grins at me. 

I haven’t told anyone about our date, but that doesn’t mean that Rhys hasn’t confided in his cousin, and that she hasn’t talked to my sister. Perhaps I should have asked him to keep it between us.

For the next little while, I work on my speech, managing to make it stick to the subject at hand: books, renovations, the art workshops for kids. All the while, in the back of my mind is another set of words that I need to say to Rhys. 

The bell over the door rings, and I look over just in time to see Cassian and Nesta enter. Well, they don’t enter so much as try to fit through the door at the same time, as if it were wide enough, or they were expecting the other to give way. They are both carrying cardboard boxes and get stuck in the door, unable to fit through at once. Cassian grins at Nesta and bows with exaggerated flourish to let her in ahead of him. I can see her nostrils flare from where I am at the register. It’s too much of a coincidence for them to have arrived at the same time. I’ll have to ask her about it later. Perhaps Mor’s plans worked. 

“Feyre, please tell me what to do, and make it nowhere near that one,” Nesta says as she stalks up to me, throwing her thumb in Cassian’s direction. 

“Actually, Nesta,” I say, standing, “I think almost everything is done. What did Mor have you go get, anyway?”

“Oh, alcohol,” Nesta says shortly, before she turns away to find Elain. Azriel is setting a table up at the entrance and setting the cardboard boxes underneath. I’m not sure what’s in them, but he seems to have a handle on it.

I tuck my speech into the pocket of my cardigan and go to check on everyone. Cassian has found the microphone and is testing it out for me. Or, he is acting like he is testing it, but he is, in actuality, reciting a Shakespeare sonnet, quite aggressively at Nesta’s back. I chuckle, and think again about the speech I would make were this not a professional occasion. 

“Feyre, darling,” Rhys says, finding my side, “I would say we are about ready. Shall we begin?”

“Sure.” I hear the sound of bottles rattling, a cork popping, and look towards the entrance. As I do, the bell rings to signal someone’s arrival. 

A stranger walks through the doors, and Elain and Mor greet them instantly. I don’t recognize the person, which I count as something of a success. I love that everyone is so supportive, but if this party is just made of my friends and family, I won’t have any customers come Monday. 

Mor reaches over to a table and hands the customer a glass. That wasn’t part of the plan. 

I turn to Rhys. “Why is there champagne?” I ask.

Rhys anticipates my question, pointing across the room to Mor. “She insisted.”

“Of course she did.” I smile despite myself. I’d never have wanted this to turn into a soirée of the sort that Tamlin might have attended or even hosted, but I can’t say I entirely mind this small indulgence. Although… I look around the room at my clean, organized shelves, and wonder what will happen to them when combined with excited, imbibing party guests.

“Don’t worry, we’re keeping it to one glass per person,” Rhys says. “We don’t want any drunk booklovers around here. They might start arguing about genres or spouting poetry or something.”

“You mean Cassian might start spouting his poetry,” I say.

Rhys looks at me, eyes narrowed. “He told you about that?” 

I shrug. “We’ve spent a lot of time together talking about books.” Rhys frowns slightly and I laugh. “Are you jealous?”

Rhys’s expression softens. “Of course not. I’m glad the two of you have found something in common. And even better,” he says, glancing to where Cassian and Nesta are squaring off, “Cassian might have found someone who won’t put up with his bull.”

Cassian and Nesta are too far away for me to hear what they are saying, but Nesta’s usually-guarded expression seems to contain some curiosity mixed in with disdain. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were in a stand-off to see who could hold the territory of the memoir section the longest. Normally I would put my money on Nesta, but I’m not so sure now. 

More invitees enter, and before long I am surrounded by crowds of people congratulating me, asking me about the expansion and telling me how lucky I am that I was able to take advantage of the space. 

I find myself looking for Rhys, for his support, but he stays away, smiling at me from afar. Someone hands me a glass of champagne, I’m not sure who, but I drink it quickly. 

An hour passes, I make my speech, Rhys cheering loudest of everyone when I’m done, and then another hour passes, and another. Mor takes charge of the contests, announcing winners of gift cards. Elain runs the register and hands out dazzling smiles that ensure the customers will come back. 

Someone has a hold of my elbow, and I whip my head around to say something to Rhys. But it’s not him. Instead, I’m greeted by a familiar head of auburn hair. 

“Lucien. Hi.” It’s not as if this were an exclusive, invitation-only event. It’s not as if I were trying to bar anyone from coming. But I’m not sure how I feel about him being here. I’m not even sure if I still consider him a friend, or if that has been broken somewhere along the way.

“Feyre, hi.” 

I think Lucien might lean forward to give me a hug, and I wait. 

He pulls back instead, gesturing to the store. “This looks great. It’s so much bigger and there are more… books.”

“You noticed?” I say dryly. 

“Well, my observation skills are the first thing I list on my resumé,” he says.

I want to laugh, but I can’t. I tilt my head, waiting for him to continue. 

“Look, Fey, I wanted to come and see the store and congratulate you. You’ve done a great job here.” 

“Thanks,” I say. I’m still wary.

“And I wanted to talk to you about everything,” Lucien continues. “Can we meet sometime for coffee?”

I purse my lips and look around. Mor is helping Elain bag purchases at the register, Amren has taken over the champagne station, and Azriel and Rhys are showing people around the store. Nesta and Cassian are still having a showdown in the memoirs, though there is a ghost of a smile on her lips now. If I called out, any one of them would be here in a minute. 

“OK,” I decide. Coffee can’t hurt. I might as well hear Lucien out. 

“Really? Great. What are you doing after this? I could buy you a drink, to celebrate. You have champagne here but I’d make sure whatever I get you contained at least a few ingredients, would be very expensive, and it will mostly taste like dessert.”

I shake my head. “I have a date after this.”

Lucien looks like I’ve slapped him, but he recovers quickly. “With who?”

“Rhys.” There’s no point in hiding it. I may not have told my friends and family, but I’m fairly certain they all know anyway, and I don’t want to hide this from Lucien as a way to hide it from Tamlin.

“Rhysand…” Lucien echoes. 

I’m waiting for the lecture, to be scolded, to be reminded about how Tamlin will feel when he finds out, what a horrible person Rhys is, his connections to Amarantha, about how naive I am to have fallen for someone like that.

“Well, Feyre,” Lucien says, measuring his words carefully. “If he does anything untoward to my dear friend, remind him that I’ll kick his ass, ok?”

The flood of relief that washes over me forces me to recognize how tense I was. “Um, ok. I’m not sure how he’ll feel about that coming from an ex, but I’ll let him know.”

Lucien glares at me, and I can’t help laughing. “He’s not my ex. It was just a few times, Christ,” he mutters.

I throw an arm around Lucien’s shoulder. “I missed you too, Lulu.”

“You weren’t supposed to say that in public.” 

I shrug. “It’s my special day. I can do what I want.”

“Lulu?” A deep voice comes from behind us and I turn to see Rhys approaching. “You never let me call you Lulu,” Rhys says. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Lucien says under his breath, and I let out an honest, deep, hearty laugh. If only all the other pieces of my life could reconcile and come together this easily.

“Feyre, darling, everyone is starting to leave.”

I look around and see that Rhys is right. I had been so busy making sure that my friends and family were doing ok, that I almost didn’t notice that they were nearly the only ones left in the store. I check my phone for the time. It’s a bit late for dinner, but I made reservations. Rhys and I need to leave now if we’re going to make it on time.

“We need to head out, but there’s so much clean-up to do,” I say.

“Don’t worry, Fey.” Mor calls out from across the store. “We’ve got it. Don’t we Cassian?”

Cassian nods. “We sure do! Nesta and I are happy to take care of the rest of this champagne for you.” 

Nesta shoves Cassian, but there is no malice in it. In fact, I might say she’s flirting. Albeit in a somewhat violent, Nesta-like way.

“Are you all sure?” I look to Elain and Mor, who are nodding vigorously and grinning and Rhys and me, and Azriel, who has already started stacking chairs. I turn to Lucien. “Coffee, this weekend? Maybe not tomorrow.”

Lucien glances at Rhys. 

“Not because of that!” I exclaim. “I just mean it’s a late night already and I’ll need to stop by here and see if anything else needs done.”

“Sure, Feyre,” Lucien says, leaning forward and kissing me on the cheek. “Just shoot me a text.”

Rhys hands me my purse, and as we leave I throw a few more nervous glances behind me. 

“They’ll be fine,” he says. 

“It’s not that,” I reply. The bell over the door rings as we leave. 

“What is it, then?”

I wrap my cardigan tightly around my torso in the cool night air. “I feel bad, leaving all of that for them. I should do it.”

“You don’t have to, you know. You can rely on other people. But where are we going, anyway?”

“Nice job changing the subject,” I say. “But it’s a place just around the corner from here, actually. An Italian place.”

Rhys stops walking. “With the homemade pasta? And the chianti bottles all over the place?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

Rhys grins. “It’s my favorite.”

My eyes narrow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

We walk the short distance and are guided to a table, the maitre d’ greeting us by name. 

When we’re shown to our table I wait for Rhys, indicating him to help me with my cardigan. It’s not the sort of thing I would normally do, but I want to make a show of it. 

The dress I’m wearing is not as conservative as I let everyone believe. Indeed, the back is open to reveal my shoulder blades, dipping so low that the small of my back is bare. It is also lined with small, sparkling rhinestones. I chose it because it reminded me of the view from Rhys’s apartment that night, when we danced and drank and I twirled and he held me in his arms. 

When Rhys sees it, I here him take in a sharp breath. “Feyre, you’ve been hiding something very important from me,” he says.

I turn to him, my lips upturned in a sly sort of grin. “You never asked.”

“True,” he agrees. “I guess I’ll just have to learn not to take anything about you for granted, won’t I?”

I nod. “An important lesson.”

We order a bottle of chianti, eat more pasta and garlic than is advisable on a first date, and every time he makes me laugh I wonder how much more I can take. How much more laughter do I have in my life? Surely there must be some sort of quota, some limit to how happy one person can make another. At this moment, it seems impossible. 

By the time we are done eating and talking, the restaurant has emptied of every other diner. I look around guiltily as Rhys pays the check. “I didn’t realize we’ve been here that long.” 

“It’s fine. The owner is an old friend.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Feyre. Don’t look so surprised.”

I feel ashamed. I didn’t realize how much other’s whispered venom about Rhys affected the way I saw him. “Sorry. I forget sometimes.”

“That I’m not the bastard Tamlin would make me out to be?”

My mood instantly sours. 

“So, Feyre darling,” Rhys says, his tone lighter. “Would you like to invite me up to your place? Or should I do the honors?” He finishes the dregs of his glass and sets it on the table. 

“Your place,” I say. “I mean, I live with my dad, and I’d rather not have to explain that. So um, you should invite me to your place.”

Rhys stands, placing his napkin on the table and extending his hand to me. “Feyre, would you like to have a nightcap at my apartment?”

I take his hand and stand. “Yes. Although I should tell you that Lucien warns against anything untoward.”

“I’d never!” Rhys exclaims. 

Rhys’s driver is waiting outside the restaurant and we laugh all the way to his place, though I’m not sure what about. I wonder if Rhys is laughing because he is as nervous as I am. I say things that aren’t funny though he acts as if they are, and I return his enthusiasm.

True to his word, Rhys offers me a glass of red when we get to his apartment. The fire is already going, though it’s too warm to sit by it. Instead, Rhys sits on a plush couch and I curl up next to him, my legs tucked up on the cushions. 

“So,” Rhys says.

“So.” I take a drink from my glass. I am very, very aware of how we were surrounded by friends before, and now we are alone. 

I lean forward, my lips parted slightly. But instead of Rhys’s lips meeting mine, he reaches up with his hand, and brushes his thumb over my mouth. 

It’s infinitely more sensual, this touch, watching him watching me, the breath catching in my throat, holding myself back from taking him into my mouth. It’s pure restraint and no matter how much I want to press my skin to his, I let him take his time. 

“Feyre,” he says, his voice a low rumble. 

“Hm?” It’s the only sound I can make that still resembles language, rather than a wanton moan. 

“I am going to enjoy taking my time with you.” He trails the tips of his fingers down my bare back, letting them rest at the spot where my dress meets skin.

I shiver, but can’t help feeling that this isn’t quite the moment. I am still healing and it’s complicated and I think that the anticipation and energy of this evening has drained me.

I close my eyes, concentrating on the feeling of his fingers on my back, feel him lean forwards to me.

“What do you want, Feyre?”

I open my eyes and look into his. I search and search, but all I can find there is honesty and love. 

“Sleep,” I answer. “After I finish this drink, I think I’d like to sleep for about a week.”

Rhys smiles. “You can stay in the guest room again, if you’d like.”

“No,” I answer quickly. “I want to stay with you.” I finish the last of my glass and feel my head spin. “If that’s ok.”

“Of course.” Rhys takes my glass and sets it on the glass coffee table in front of us, leading me to the bedroom. He rummages in a dresser before handing me an over-sized t-shirt - another piece of clothing from him that I will own - and disappearing into the bathroom to change, leaving me to myself. 

I take the opportunity to look around the room. There is a small pile of books on his nightstand, and a copy of photography books on his dresser. I recognize some of the titles from when we had discussed them months ago, and smile. Then I remember that I am supposed to be changing and strip off my dress so I can throw the t-shirt over my head.

Rhys comes back into the room wearing soft cotton pants, and nothing else. I swallow, hoping he doesn’t have great hearing. 

Rhys joins me on the bed, where I find myself in his arms. He kisses the back of my neck, and I drift off to sleep faster than I have in months.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre opens her art studio in the bookstore, and receives a message from Rhys.

When I wake up this time, Rhys is lying by my side. His lips are slightly parted, his hair thick and disheveled. One of his arms is thrown across my stomach, holding me but not keeping me down. I feel a smile spread across my face, and reach up to caress his cheek. 

The night before passed by in something of a blur, if only because I didn’t think it was possible. That someone would see my walls, my boundaries, and not view them as challenges, to smash and crush beneath the fist of their own ego, but something to be respected; this is unexpected, if unsurprising, coming from Rhys.

His lips are fuller, more inviting than they have a right to be. The sun alights off the skin of his forearms in a way that gives him superhuman vitality. If only I could bottle it, capture it in some way. But I’m sure that would betray his very nature.

There are things I would like to do to him, wicked, naughty things, but it doesn’t seem like the time. A thousand miles of intimacy would need to pass between us before I felt comfortable touching Rhys in the way I want to now.

But then I come up with a better plan, and instead get out of the bed. I manage to do so without disturbing him, pulling the covers back as if I haven’t left an empty, cold space behind. I throw one of his t-shirts on and wonder what would make Rhys wake to feel the same way he made me feel.

Safe. Cared for. That’s what I want him to know.

By the time Rhys has woken up and found me, I have made a mess of the kitchen. I couldn’t find an apron so his t-shirt is covered in flour. I couldn’t decide on blueberry or chocolate chip pancakes, so there are bowls with one or the other and a bowl with both and a bowl with neither. He might be one of those guys who counts calories and talks about macros and carbs but I don’t really know. We haven’t gotten that far. All I can do is hope that he won’t mind me having used the entire pound of locally-sourced and cured bacon in his refrigerator. 

Rhys strolls up to the platter of bacon, picking up a piece. He crunches it, settles onto a stool to take in what I’ve got going on in his kitchen. “Good morning, Feyre,” he says. He has thrown a t-shirt on, and I can’t help regretting it. Wishing I had paused just a moment longer to take in the curves and planes of his chest.

“Good morning, Rhysand.” I turn and settle the tip of a wooden spoon on my chin, wondering why he hasn’t come up behind me to wrap those golden arms around me.

“Rhysand?”

I shrug. “You are rather far away.”

Rhys grins, stands. He comes around the counter, standing so close to me that I’m forced to look up. Up and up, into his eyes, that violet color an eternal, constant mystery.

“Rhys,” I say, knowing that’s what he wants. 

He grazes his lips against mine, not fully committing to a kiss. My toes curl, holding myself back from leaning into him fully, the way I know he wants me to.

“Yes?” he asks, once he has done thoroughly ensuring that my nipples press against the fabric of his shirt, that every part of me is alive with the idea of his heat so near my own.

I lower my own lips, resting my forehead against his chest. I turn and pull myself up on the kitchen counter. It feels rather presumptuous, an even more intimate way of making myself at home than sleeping in Rhys’s bed had been. But Rhys takes the pan off the burner and stalks towards my spot on the counter. He puts his palms on my knees and I’m not sure if he spreads my legs or if I do it myself, but he settles himself between them and sighs.

“Feyre.” When he says my name it isn’t a question or a statement, but a reassurance. 

I’m not sure who moves first, but my legs are wrapped around his waist and his hands are in my hair, his lips against my skin and mine form the shape of his name, something like a prayer I have been waiting to say for months now, if only I could find the proper place of worship. 

We are breathless, my chest pressing against him and my ankles locked, pulling him closer. His fingers drift up my thighs, gripping me as if it will somehow quench either of our needs. He pulls my hips forward and the counter is doing little to hold me up anymore. Instead it is my bare legs, his palms cupping my backside, my arms locked around his neck. I begin to lean back so that I can feel the weight of him on me, when I hit my head on an overhead cabinet. 

“Ouch.”

Rhys reaches up to cradle my head, pulling me back up and setting me back down on the counter, and I begin laughing. The worry in his eyes disappears and he helps me down from the counter. 

“How do you like your eggs?” I ask.

Rhys chuffs, pulls away slightly. “That’s it? Like that, you’re satisfied?”

“Well,” I begin, feeling far too bold in the full light of the morning, “Not really, but that was a good start. You’ll need to work a lot harder to make me come. But you need to keep your strength up.”

“For what?” Rhys raises an eyebrow, and I find a new expression that makes him utterly irresistible. 

“Children.”

“So soon, Feyre, darling? Don’t you want to talk about it first?” Rhys is joking, I know, but my heart does funny things in my throat anyway.

“We’re going to the bookstore today. It’s the first group coming in, remember?” 

Of all the changes to the bookstore, this is the one I am most nervous about. It’s one thing to entertain the idea of being an art instructor, to be able to idealize a situation in which I have the actual talent and skills to pass on to children who otherwise have nowhere else to go but abusive homes. There, the only constant are fists and a gnawing emptiness in their stomachs. And I could change that for them, or at least provide a bit of color for their lives.

The other option - and one that is very real, and will soon be tested - is to put myself out there and fail, but I don’t think I could handle that. I can’t let anyone down. 

“Of course I remember,” Rhys answers. “I might have arranged some extra help for us today.”

“Who?” It’s not that I’m ungrateful, but I didn’t exactly plan on an audience for this.

“Friends. Don’t worry, no one you wouldn’t have invited yourself.”

”All right,” I say, pouring batter into the pan I have placed back onto the stovetop. I’m quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds the sizzle of the pan and Rhys crunching on bacon. I finally glance over at him, and he gives me a soft smile. 

“So,” he says, “where did you learn how to do this?” Rhys gestures to the counters, the piles of ingredients and half-filled bowls, as if there were any art to what I do.

“My mom was gone before she had a chance to teach me,” I answer, “And then after that I was too busy with work and school to learn. Nesta never had a knack for it. Elain is creative in some areas, but not this.” I gesture to the counter and splatter pancake batter on its surface. Luckily, I am prepared for my own sloppiness and quickly follow the mess with a wet dishrag. 

“So you figured out how to run the microwave?” Rhys settles himself back on a barstool.

“Yep. Microwaves are great. But so are cookbooks,” I say.

“Cookbooks?” Rhys picks a blueberry from the bowl I have left on the counter and munches on it.

“Yes. They are books where people put recipes. Sometimes they have pictures, too. Not everything is found on the internet,” I quip. Rhys grins. “And YouTube. I think someone I know has learned a lot there.” I try to wink but turn too quickly for it to have had any effect on Rhys. If it wasn’t apparent before, it surely is now: I’m not very good at this. This whole romance thing is somewhat new. Well, when my partner is following my lead, rather than expecting me to fall in line, I suppose.

I finish making our breakfast, glancing over at Rhys to check the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his mouth, the light in his eyes. I’ve become quite adept at interpreting his mood in a moment, and from the looks of it, I am succeeding in putting him at ease.

Rhys helps me to carry the food to the table and we settle in. He takes one of each pancake, chocolate and blueberries everywhere, but then he stands, raising a finger. “I forgot something.”

He comes back to the table with a canister of whipped cream, which he sprays liberally over his plate. I offer him the bowl of chocolate chips, which he takes eagerly. 

“Rhys, are you serious?” 

He looks up from his plate, blinking. “What?”

I look down to his breakfast that looks more like a dessert, but don’t say anything.

“Want to try it?” he asks. 

I pause, then nod, pushing my plate towards him. Once he is satisfied that my breakfast contains as much sugar as his own, his pushes it back to me, and I begin the task of trying to find the pancakes beneath mounds of whipped cream and chocolate chips.

“My sister always wanted children,” Rhys says before taking a bite.

“Your sister?” In all the months I’ve known him, I’ve never heard him speak of a sister. His parents rarely come up either. At first, it felt like an invasion of privacy to ask. What did it matter, when every time I spoke with Rhys I had Tamlin’s disapproval hanging over me? When we were never even supposed to be friends? But I’m reminded of my conversation with Tamlin, when he had hinted at knowing and admiring Rhys’s sister, and I wonder what is so shameful about wanting to know someone more intimately. 

He sets his fork down. “Amie. She would have been your age.” Rhys says this searching my face, but I’m not sure what he’s looking for. 

“Tell me about her,” I say, setting down my own silverware. 

“She would have loved your bookstore. _Beauty and the Beast_ was her favorite movie. I think she would have liked having sisters. Or at least one. Not to be stuck with just a gruff older brother who was always telling her be careful and threatening her with the day her boyfriends or girlfriends would have to meet my approval. Our dad was always at work, our mother was her best friend. Then my parents passed away, and it was just us. Then I was her best friend. Then it was up to me to look after her.” His throat bobs and I can see his jaw clench. 

“What happened?” There is no delicate way to ask. There is no way to prod him for more without potentially reopening wounds that never fully close. 

“Cancer.”

My throat tightens. “I’m so sorry, Rhys.” I reach over and place my hand on his. If only there were a way I could comfort him like that, just with a touch, and know it was enough. 

Rhys’ thumb strokes the back of my hand and he smiles. “It’s nice, being able to talk about her.”

“I’m sure she loved having you as a brother.” Everything I say feels stupid, inadequate. “And I’m sorry,” I continue, “that she never had the chance to have kids, get married, to wear some ridiculous dress and be handed off by her big brother.”

“You mean a dress as ridiculous as yours was? With sleeves even Anne Shirley might have been jealous of?” 

I snort and hit Rhys on the arm. “Puffed sleeves? How do you know about Anne Shirley’s quest for a dress with puffed sleeves?”

Rhys smiles and rubs his arm as if I caused any damage. “ _Anne of Green Gables_ was Amie’s favorite book.”

“We definitely would have gotten along, then.” I smile and pick up my fork. “Now let’s get through this mess, we’ve got a store to get to.”

*********

Rhys and I arrive at the bookstore an hour before the event begins, but Mor and Elain are already there setting up. There are easels and drop cloth on the floor, and they seem to be discussing the best way to divide up the sets of color. 

“Just set them over there,” I say, pointing to a counter. “Let them choose what paints they want to use.”

Elain squeals at my arrival, and Mor gives Rhys a quick peck on the cheek. In the corner, I see Amren pull herself out of the orange chair, followed by Nesta, who had pulled a chair up next to her.

“Amren,” Rhys says, “I didn’t expect to see you here. Been making yourself useful?”

“Children confuse me,” Amren declares. “They are messy and loud and utterly irrational. But I want to be supportive. This is what friends do when they are supportive, right?”

“Yes, Amren,” Rhys says, “that is normally what human people do for their friends.” 

“Don’t mock me, boy. I’d have your balls in a sack in a second.”

Rhys holds his hands up. 

“Nesta, I didn’t expect to see you here either.” I hope she doesn’t take it as an insult. I never know with her.

“Elain set a reminder on my phone.” She shrugs. “And it’s a good idea. I don’t know much about what you do here, but I thought maybe I could do something. Child wrangling or something.” 

Nesta’s eternal insistence that she doesn’t understand the store - the source of our livelihoods, where we grew up, where I spend most of my time - still rankles me, but I let it go. “Well I’m glad you could come.”

“So we’ve got the place ready to go. Where are the kids?” Elain asks. Her hands are clasped together and she is practically hopping from foot to foot. 

“Cassian and Az,” Rhys chimes in. I turn around in surprise. “They will be in the front of the store, getting the parents’ contact info, checking them in, all that. Then they will lead all the kids back here.”

So that’s one less thing I have to do. Running the art studio brings unexpected challenges. It is one thing to paint in isolation, just me and a canvas, turning my music up to 11 if I want, making a mess and then cleaning it up when I feel like it. But having other people here, my friends, children, it feels like an invasion - at first. 

Azriel and Cassian walk in a while later, leading a gaggle of children. Cassian has one in each arm and one clambering up his back, while Azriel’s hands rest on the shoulders of a few shyer children, guiding them into the room. 

Amren watches the children warily while Mor and Elain take a few kids off Azriel and Cassian’s hands, showing them where the aprons and paints are. The kids begin to claim their easels, each thinking theirs is the best for one reason or another, and I’m suddenly glad that I am not the only one directing this madness.

The kids are supposed to be here for two hours, and it goes by so quickly that I’m sure my phone must be wrong about the time. There is dancing and silly songs and giggles that cause even Amren to crack a smile. Everyone is covered in paint, and no one regrets a moment of it. Some of the canvases turn out a bit more abstract than the others, but there are enough flowers and dragons and houses with families to go around. 

I have been going from easel to easel, learning the kids’ names and asking about their projects, and so I haven’t had a chance to talk to Rhys. Halfway through he settled at his own easel with a small, dark-haired boy guiding him. It wasn’t really supposed to be Rhys painting and the children supervising, but I laughed at the role reversal. Now, as I’m going around the room, I notice that Rhys and the boy seem to be waiting for me. 

Most of the others have been picked up by their parents, so I make my way over to them. Rhys stands quickly. “Feyre, this is Bryan.”

I kneel down and take the boy’s hand in mine. He is only about 6 years old, and a need to pull him into my chest overwhelms me, but his other hand is tucked behind his back. He still isn’t sure of me, but he looks up to Rhys for reassurance. 

“Bryan is in foster care, and his foster mom told him about this place. He’s been asking her if he could come ever since. Right?”

The boy nods, dark curls falling in his face. 

“Did you have fun today?” I ask.

“Yes.” 

“And what did you work on over here?” I stand to take a look at what is on the easel, but Rhys blocks me. 

“We worked on it together,” Rhys says. “I told him what my idea was, and he gave me some tips to make it better.”

“He got better, but needs more work,” Bryan says. 

I laugh. “Maybe one day, you can help me run this place.”

“Why not now?” he asks. 

“How about for now, we just get you familiar with how it all works. Next weekend you can help me get set up. How does that sound?”

“Good.” 

Cassian approaches and Bryan climbs onto his back without being prompted. “Let’s get you home, buddy.” He winks at us, and Bryan waves goodbye over his back. 

Rhys and I are left alone, and I look around the room. Thank goodness Elain thought to put down the cloths, or else the carpets would have been ruined. There is paint everywhere, a good number of children’s books have been pulled from the shelves, and a couple of the children forgot to take their work with them.

I feel Rhys pull my hand into his, and I look up at him. “Thanks for helping. For all of it. It’s been…” I sigh. “A gift.”

“You haven’t looked at your painting yet.”

I step around the easel, and smile. It’s a view of the city, and I can see all of the spots that are or have become important to me. The balcony of Rhys’s apartment, where I looked at the stars. The café. The bookstore. Even in the distance, I see a small speck of light that I take for his home in the mountains. 

Written in stars, across the cobalt blue sky, it reads “I love you”. 

I look up at Rhys, and I know that it’s about more than a painting, more than his attempt to make a little boy feel important, it’s more than this afternoon or any of the other afternoons that have come before. Those words hint not only what has passed, but what will happen. The potential of a future with a partner I never would have imagined for myself.

A smile spreads across my face, and I lean forward. With one arm wrapped around his neck, I whisper, “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhh I finally finished it! Apologies for being late on this update, but book releases tend to stall my fanfic writing. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with it and read and commented - I've been really glad to know that this has made other people happy!


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